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.