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.