The earth gives under my feet, the leaves are soft and squishy as if I’m wading through a shallow stream.
I relax into the cold. I am enveloped in the smooth hollow thud of rain on leaves.
I visit the regular places
A woodpecker has been at the fallen maple. A scrim of water flows over and down the flat rock turning it once again into a waterfall. Rain blinks in the leaves in the pool made by the upturned roots of the hickory.
I am soaked through.
Cold rain trickles down the back of my neck. A black leafless branch grabs my hat, thorny brambles pull at my legs. It’s dark and damp and finally feels like November.
I couldn’t be happier.
