Net curtains of rain brush against my face. The old beech tree brought down in the storm lies across the track, its bark the skin of a great whale grimly reflecting the cloud. I poke a puffball with my toe and watch a plume of spores cough in the gloom. The day feels hollowed out and hungry, yet I walk wearing the sky on my head and the earth on my feet. All will be well.
dominique cameron 