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.