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.