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.