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.