Monday, September 18, 2017

September 8, 2014, I temporarily inhabited the hooded woods of the very same shaded, east mountain in the slanted, morning, less lunar, light with bear sign and buck antler’ rubbings high on saplings, among the defecation of the Least Weasel, when two boar ran with speckled offspring across my upward winding, oak less trail, a past deer dance on a precipitous path around the contours of the river run off within the massive deciduous mountain range. It has rained in solid, also slanted sheets for days. I am cold and wet even in camouflage raincoat remembrance.