You won’t get out again, soft underfoot whichever way you turned, even with a map you would probably get lost, it was so quiet here, dark as earth. I am simply too much my own is all you can think of now, surrounded on all sides by trees, by sleep, where was the open place where you sat down, where you admired the murmur of what seethes and breathes. You haven’t gone, quite the reverse, you belong to a secret, a myth no less – the story goes that the sea changed colour, each step was one too many, a pack of hounds was let loose, searching greedily for your scent, tongues hanging out, something sucks them closer but you, you know nothing, hey, can you hear that too, but words seem superfluous and in such a frame of mind you are found.

Written by Alfred Schaffer.