(Kevin Baird [CC / Flickr])

I stand.

I look up.

I see a patchwork of speckles on the ceiling of my world.

Stars between branches.

The forest gobbles their morsels of light, sparing none for me.

Darkness engulfs me.

I listen.

I fill my world with the sound of myself. Leaves rustle beneath my feet as I sway with each breath.

I close my eyes. I see no less but I hear more.

A breeze rustles the top of the trees. A rustle might be a foraging fox or a stoat in a careless moment.

I place my right foot in front of my left. My left foot completes the pace.

I stop. Walking in circles will not help.

For a moment, I stain to sense the earth’s magnetic field. It refuses my touch.

I hold my breath and close my eyes again.

I hear it.

If it’s quiet, it’s because it’s muffled by the forest. The hunt is not furtive.

My legs quiver. My feet itch to be moving. I order them to be staunch.

I listen.

I do not allow myself to move until I am sure of which direction I can hear the hunt approaching from.

I turn my back to it.

I run.

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Posted in Saturday Hooptedoodle

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