i remember walking down the gravel path at your aunt's acreage.
the entrance is informal, merely a break in the bright red fence circumferencing her yard.
the paper birch trees hang limply over the walkway. their listlessness inspires a certain relaxation in us as we forget the world of parents, curfews.
the impending doom of september and the prison of ancient desks, smelly erasers and lined paper is forgotten. we disappear into the embrace of mother nature, playing at being our ancestors.
we are less then a stone's throw from the highway. it doesn't matter. we are simply lost in the forest, as far as we are concerned.