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.