Looking at a tree through a glass window. Watching it sway, move, and drop leaves, as the wind tells it to. Turns me into a child. A child that would fear the dark. That would try and stare endlessly at the nightlight trying to fall into a brighter sleep. A child that couldn't seem to get good dreams anymore. So they would crawl upon their parent's bed, and watch the blinds move,  forming dancing snakes. Dancing snakes that guarded the outside. Guarded the trees. Trees that knocked on the window. Asking to come in. Sometimes the trees became witches. Sometimes the trees became dragons, but the trees never came from behind the dancing snakes. Watching the endless battle continue. He would drift off to sleep better than any number of sheep. By morning they were just trees, obeying the orders of the wind. Swaying, moving, and dropping leaves.