I’m not fond of the dark. I have an over-active imagination, if such a thing can exist, and I see things in shadows and mist.
When I run, if you can call it that, I know just how fast I can go. If a large shadow were to suddenly become form, well, I can run pretty fast. Normally I just lope along like a wounded primate confused about whether I should even be running upright.
So I’ve been riding my bike, on which I feel swift and maneuverable. When I’m riding downhill, I’m untouchable.
I entered the forest today and grew a garden of ghoulish characters out of the twisted branches and shadowed tree stumps. I rode faster, as I do, chased by my own creation.
The fields were misted over, and I could almost drink the air. I willed the sun to rise.
I sing along with the music, sometimes louder than other times, like when I want to drown out the process of creature creation going on in my head.
It is not midsummer any more. The shadows are longer earlier, and I’m thinking about taking it all back inside where I can set the controls.