A small creature finally unnerved as I knelt in a bright
green wash of huckleberry bushes picking ripened berries and dropping them into
my bucket. I did not see the creature,
but heard it zipping off through the dry lilies and duff where it bolted away
underneath the layers of understory growth.
I saw the beargrass and huckleberry plants waggle along the arrowlike
trajectory of escape—across the forest floor from right where I knelt and then up
a small incline of mixed grass, brush and upright timber.
Bigger than a mouse.
Smaller than a fox.
A trail of wavering plants remained before me for a
few seconds. Some of the berries on the jostled
bushes swayed like ringing bells. I could smell freshly released dust and the
ever constant perfume of ripe huckleberries.
Though I have always had in mind that I belonged in
the forest, the thought stuck me—as I paused from picking berries—that the
forest may not be convinced I belong there. Still, I smiled and listened to the
sound of a nearby stream flouncing down through the stones and mossy deadfall. Far above me, clouds pushed on.
This, without end.
--Mitchell
Hegman
Great imagery!
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