I am standing in a forest, but I can’t see the trees for the vines growing around me. Above me, below me, to all sides, the vines grow and block out the smallest glimpse I can have of the trees. The air is hot and stifling, but every now and then a breeze comes through. It smells sweet and flowery, and it lifts my sticky hair off my forehead. It shifts the vines for a second, and for that brief second I see into heaven. The vines close, cutting of the breeze, the forest, and the flowers. But the forest continues to call out to me.