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.