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.