Walhalla

Watery, wobbly sunlight filters into the corridor of green,
Like though a canopy of seaweed in an underwater world.
The trees are waiting, the air hovers
With humidity lounging languidly in its lap.
Ribbons of foliage slither upwards
From mounds of moss like green coral.
Strange little creatures gaze at me,
Eyes wide, unblinking
Then twist and disappear with a flick of their tail.
Upward, upward, I move toward the light