I am packing my bags. I am getting ready to flee from the prison which has held me for so long. No more steel bars, no more unbreakable glass walls.
I am returning once more to the long-familiar lands where I grew, and where my roots remain firmly planted, no matter how much I myself have branched out. I am going to where I can once again hear the whispering rumours that the trees beg to tell me, and where I can place my feet to the whooshing waltz tune of the river.
The world in which I live is totally different to the one I work in. I am running far away from this man-made woodland of grey sixties concrete.
I don't think it will mind if I don't say goodbye.