The last embers

of the fire float up into

the starless sky,

and then, suddenly, one by one,

dark shapes skulk out of the fog,

long necks and stretched bodies

step slowly through the boulders,

quiet barks and grunts

from their low-hanging heads.

I hold my breath,

hide my head in my bag.

It’s a family of Sasquatch, or forest goblins.

This can’t be real.

I unzip my bag

just enough to feel

the sudden breath on my face,

of an unexpected monster,

a Tule elk above me,

his huge muzzle smelling me

from head to toe.

I’ve never felt so small in my life.

We stare at each other for a long time,

and I can see myself in his eyes

until he softly grunts, his eyes aglow

in the dying firelight, and moves on.

I watch them disappear,

one by one

in the dying firelight,

their bodies silent,

into the deep woods.

Hypothermia

When we wake up,

my feet are numb,

my head soaked,

and I can’t stop shivering

no matter what I do.

Let’s get going,

Jorge says.

It will warm us up.

So we pack everything

and start hiking,

my hands shivering,

my feet aching

in this impossible cold.

My head starts to feel

like fog is swirling

around on the inside.

Down the trail,

I start to see strange things,

like when you first

close your eyes before bed:

trees taking steps,

long arms and claws,

sometimes leaning over,

turning as we walk by,

giants in the mist.

My wet feet squish with every step,

my body so tired. I just want to stop.

Jorge is way ahead by now.

I see his blue backpack

turn a corner

on the windy trail,

sucked away

into the fog.

One

step

at

a

time.

Have courage.

I can’t catch up.

I can’t see Jorge.

I yell out.

How did he get so far away?

I can’t see past

the length of my arms.

My feet squish raw

in my soaked shoes.

Walk                                                                    Walk

Walk    until I’m exhausted.

Stop.

Along the trail,

a giant moss-covered boulder

sits alone at a gentle turn.

Sit with me, it says.

I should have eaten more.

Not enough water?

My head is aching,

pounding. I’m so tired,

shivering still.

I decide to listen to the rock,

feel my muscles melt

into moss and granite.

I look at my calculator watch,

but the numbers

are far away, and

my hands are shaking.

How far have we gone?

Where is Jorge?

I can’t feel my feet.

I want to lie down

in this bed

of horsetail ferns

and short moss,

where a thousand ladybugs

swirl in an old log.

It’s so quiet.

Finally quiet.

I could sleep. Sleep.

Things That Exist

Ari?

Is it the rock talking?

I spread my fingers

on the cool moss.

Ari, the voice through the fog and forest.

Arrriii!

It’s Jorge.

Are you okay?