Fog begins to settle at the
foot of the hills creeping out
from crevices and streams;
the edges of the woods darken
as the sun sinks lower and its
light no longer filters through
the canopy. I startle squirrels
and birds gathering a last
minute meal, and my mind
starts to play those late
evening tricks with shadows
and sounds turning them into
bears and men with axes –
the things you see on the news.
I pick up my pace, sweat covers
me in a thick sheen, the heavy air
pressing into my lungs. Deer graze
in the fields, crickets and tree frogs
sing, I feel each footfall against the
earth and I am connected in this
moment; the heady scent of summer
rain coating the grass and leaves
and soil rising into the humidity
intoxicates me, reminding me
I too am a wild thing.