Living in the jungle, between the leaves, and under the trees, the sun casts freckled shadows on every path. Alarming, strange at first, soft greenwall paths eventually become familiar and regular, and the initially unseen patterns show themselves. This smell, or that taste indicates a changing direction, sustenance, or a place to rest. Under the weight of air like a waterfall spray, heated and close, the spaces between trunks becomes home. Comfortable to loll near the stream, with the best places for digging, and the trees that bear the best fruits carefully mapped out.
When the paths cease to become strange, and the jungle becomes home, it becomes no longer necessary to expect attack from all sides at all times. However, in the shadows, there are still cats with yellow eyes and earthquake voices. And to forget of their existence, would be foolish. Behind the dappled shadows and soft earthy smells, there are tigers.
This is actually, metaphorically, about abandonment.