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Purgatory - Sunday, Feb. 10, 2019
2002-08-19 @ 11:20 p.m.
I return to the forest.
I saw an owl, and he saw me. His head swivelled to watch me. He thought about me.
I began to drown in his gaze.
The distant chattering of birds drew up close and loud in my head. The curtains of sunlight hung between the trees shivered and shifted around me.
Everything became acute. The huckleberries, bright red and glowing. I looked around the showy fruit to the now empty stems. Star shaped, like cloves or spiders, they hung. Ever so slightly they trembled.
The owl returned his gaze to the complexities of the forest floor.
Stagnant water beside me reflected the towering trees around me. I could see the clouds in that clear glass. Micro-ripples broke the image: water striders. The water dimples around each leg on each bug. In my head, I hear the sound of them rowing over the water. It too becomes loud, and the birds fade away.
The owl remains. His focus is directed to the movement in the ferns. With a silent shove, his wings are spread and he glides out, away, down.