Further from home they go into the unknown of the wilderness. They were shaking maybe even trembling from the biting cold and howling forest. Using their imagination, the forest disappeared into a cloud of smoke.
Once again, they are sitting in the old creaking rocking chair smelling the musty scent of the old cottage house. Getting up, with their old joints creaking like the chair, they start running through the fields of golden Iowa corn. They feel the rough bushels hitting their legs as they run past, making them feel younger than they ever have before. The smell of the fresh farmland wafted through their nose rejuvenating them as they ran into town. Running and running until they can’t run anymore, their legs now begging their human to stop this consistent running everywhere.
With life in their bones, they stop at the old schoolhouse. Instead of going inside to the dusty rooms with the bland boring walls and the bland boring lectures with the same bland boring teachers; they jump on top of the roof, this is so they can watch the sun set into the horizon with its golden gaze casting upon them.
Anxious in the Wild 