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.