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.