The Clearing

I didn’t run away. I just didn’t come back. There is a difference and I know what it is even if no one else does. The clearing was already there when I found it. I only decided it was mine.

I was calm. This is the part people would find hard to believe, if there were people. I was ~~terrified, barely functioning, crying for most of the first hour~~ calm. I made a fire. It was adequate.

A charcoal drawing of a small fire burning in a forest clearing at night. Tall pines press close on either side, their shadows stretching across the ground. The fire is the only light. — The Clearing. First Night.

The wolves, or what I decided were wolves, kept their distance.

I did not think about where I had come from. I thought about the fire. I thought about whether the wood I had chosen was the right wood. I thought about the dark at the edges of the light and whether it had opinions about me.

The night lasted one night. In my telling it has lasted considerably longer. Both are true in the ways that matter. I have learned there are always two versions of every story I tell. This is the first story. It was the first night. I did not sleep.