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.