The bee is not afraid of me,

I know the butterfly;

The pretty people in the woods

Receive me cordially.

The brooks laugh louder when I come,

The breezes madder play.

Wherefore, mine eyes, thy silver mists?

Wherefore, O summer’s day?

-Emily Dickenson

So why don’t I spend more time in the woods? Why do I allow depression to prevent me from getting out of bed some early mornings? I should be more eager to be in the woods where I am know, where there is happiness.