The forest at night

Its only slightly past nine, yet the dark is gathering full strength over the trees of my likes. Or rather they look to be us, but that's just because they wish they were one of us: able to grow where nutrients are scares and exist high up in the fresh mountain air.
It was wonderful out there. In the forest, listening tothe few birds that were still up and about, and the sounds from the flowing stream, just after dark. I should probably not have been there, out in the cool air. But if you need time and somewhere to think, I can not think of any other... Then in this Norwegian Wood of mine.
My past questions are answered. They led way for the past to arrise. Now I linger in this old, oh so very old, genuine Norwegian Wood, where I saw my roots once. If I look again, carefully this time, who knows? maybe I'll see them again.
Think I can see some old oak over there, in between those proud Pines. The short "chumpy" green little Thing at the left, will forever more be as it was and were to be; of the past. Nonetheless it's being shall never fade though it may be trapped by time. This is where my heart lies, and shall be kept from the world.

I am home.

old oak = good friend