deadcrow

I think about the weird fabric in the car, and outside the window I see this expansive, dark, pine infested forested littered to the knee with needles. The pool meets the road. Whatever. I remember one time I had run off into the woods pretty early in the morning, it was cold and still wet out. My shoes were soaked before I made it into the woods and from there I ran until I couldn't see the house anymore. I liked the rocks, the fungus, the little bugs. Around around, and the little beams of light that whispered to me such awful things. My journey had it's first stop atop a little hill, roped around me was a sepulture. I took the edge with the farthest drop, looking into the forest ahead. Behind me was a rock. I cried to the tree tops and laid solemnly in the rot of the soil. I could see the little bugs that practically made up the dirt. It felt like the sun had left and come back again, like I could feel the roots growing to swallow me whole. And then I saw a lonely little crow perch atop the rock, and it looked down at me. ]Like when a car starts on a cold winter morning[. I looked into it's little eyes and I asked it, "Why am I?" It didn't speak back, at least not at first. I sat up to meet it's little face, rising all with core strength, swiftly like a rising corpse. "Does it matter if I stay here forever? How long will it be?" Again, silence but it continued to look at me. I inched closer to the thing. I began studying it's face, perhaps it knew the impenetrable shield of anonymity. "Do I know you?" Suddenly the bird screeched and opened its wings which blackened my vision. The torrent it kicked up pushed me over and off the hill we shared, its cry echoing deeply into the woods. The trees shook, and I tumbled down the hill side as it got increasingly steeper. But before I hit the bottom I always open my eyes back to the car.