7/12 i wish i was in the woods right now, well, in my home-in the woods right now. Instead i am in my home- in the suburbs right now and it is raining. In my house in the woods, i am sitting in the dark interior of the kitchen- next to the window that faces the trees. It’s raining outside, as i can both see and hear it bouncing off the shingles of the house. It’s dark in the woods today, because it is raining- because the clouds are obscuring the sun. What light does make it through the clouds, through the canopy and into my kitchen window, is partial and diffused. But I don't mind much, I don't think of it much. If i were to go outside, my nose would be filled with the scent of the wet soils under my feet-which are bare, and the trees surrounding my home-which is warm. But not too warm. As i am sitting by the window in the kitchen, in the dark wood house that is my home- i begin to notice a breeze wafting in from the woods, from the window-it is open- i hadn’t noticed the window was open- i hadn’t noticed the breeze. I hadn’t noticed the tall looming figure in the yard before the woods, but he wafts in too. We sit by the window in the dark kitchen of my creaky old home and watch the rain fall to the forest floor together-neither of us makes a sound. And neither of us moves except to reach for our respective cups of scalding afternoon coffee. It burns our fingers, but we don’t really seem to notice. We sit and watch the rain for a while, little streams of runoff wash by the house, through the garden and into the woods. And it begins to get dark. The sun, though shrouded by clouds and trees-begins to set behind the house. We are illuminated by the last hues of golden hour- our mugs stand empty. “Where has the time gone?” The creature sitting adjacent to me by the window -seems to say, and “perhaps i should get going” as they rise from their chair, the floorboards creak beneath their weight, though they are not entirely there, though they seem to weight not but the blanket of fog that begins to shroud my home. So as fast as the looming figure-too tall for my ceiling- wafted into my home, so quickly and quietly did it depart. I didn’t even see it waltz back to the wood from which it came, perhaps it didn’t. It is very dark now. I miss the presence of my old nameless friend. And although it is as quiet as it was before they came as it was while they were here, and now after they had gone, the house feels as though a heavy blanket had fallen on it. The quiet is too quiet, the sounds of the woods too flat. I think i will not sleep tonight, but rather sit by the breezy window in the dark wood kitchen of my home, sipping at my mug, and feeling Terribly alone.
the thing in the woods