So this afternoon I went on a run in what I swear was some sort of fairy mountain paradise. The moss was phosphorescent, I'm pretty sure the sunlight was transformed into gaseous diamonds, and the air could only be described as juicy. I don't think the trees wanted me climbing in them though because I was sitting on a branch, visually climaxing at the view of the bay, and next thing I knew I was in the crucifixion position, my elbows slung over the back of the mossy branch and my feet dangling over an abyss of bracken and other unfriendly looking plants of unknown depth. Somehow I swung my leg over and had Matt pull me up onto the branch, but I shudder to think I was a hair's breadth from the jagged claws of a forest troll, salivating greedily at the neon green shorts of a foolish forest interloper!
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