forests around my childhood home.  thick 
 pine  arcades  that   were  planted  and 
       forgotten. wild boars roaming      
 underneath,  sniffing at the  ground. it 
 is  dark and  moist,  the  canopy having 
 already   soaked   up   all   the   sun. 
 there's  a river  passing by,  from east 
 to west, getting broader and  deeper and 
 slower as it goes.  equisetum  grow just 
 where   the  pine  hands  start  to  let 
 through  light, horsemint on  the  rocky 
                river bed.                
 the riverbanks  reek  of magic.  tonight 
 they had  been a swampworld  with sylvan 
 water,  stone rings  and  floating moss. 
 you could've  found me  wallowing around 
 on  the  southern  shores  until  i  got 
 but  now  i'm  further  back,  on  solid 
 ground, in shoulder-high grass,  with an 
 orange  tin  radio   and  a  translucent 
      umbrella which i'm sitting on.      
 somethings  moving  in the  grass.  it's 
 invisible  to  my eyes  but i  can  feel 
 through the ground just how large it is. 
 the  soil is muddy.  i slip when  trying 
 to   get   up,  still  looking   at  the 
 direction  of sound  rather  than  at my 
 hands, who are  busy putting  things  in 
                my pockets.               
 then  i   run  east   toward  my   home. 
 i am not followed,  and slow down in the 
 clearing  where  you at  first  can spot 
 the  house,  not  yet   really  in   the 
 backyard. from my pockets i retrieve  my 
 radio  (now  dented) but  also  a  small 
 clay figure i've never  seen before.  it 
 must  have been  laying in the wet dirt, 
 and  i  must've  picked  it  up with  my 
            other belongings.             
 it's a  statuette of a girl laying naked 
 on   her  stomach,  feet  in   the  air, 
   roughly seven centimeters long. it's   
 freshly made,  not yet completely dried. 
 my mom is here  now. i ask her for  some 
 particle  board  for  it to dry  on, but 
 she   is  worried   and   wants  me   to 
              throw it away.