The wilds of the ancient forest. Only 3 stops from home.
In borrowed trainers I set out for the treeline. Out along the marshy plain, the boggy Ching bubbling between my toes. Cold and squelchy, a mile into the deep topographical adventure of my whimsies, a slipshod rambler out of step with my terrain.
I dream of drawing comics about landscape and place, but I haven’t made them. Not really. I’ve had a go. A half go.
Easily distracted, as I stumble through the woods grasping my phone. Looking at maps and paths. Trying to google specific trees of note as I’m literally surrounded by them.
And then I see something, a muntjac in a little glade. And I stop for a moment. And remember to just stop. And look.