Is it necessary to tell people you’re not dead?
If you found a pale, motionless body lying in a secluded wood, wrapped in a survival bag, would the fact it had a sign on it saying “I’m not dead” really help?
This is just one of the thoughts that wandered through my head while lying beneath the stand of alder trees that became my solo spot. The sight of a woman in the distance dancing madly is funny, the sight of a body lying motionless might actually scare someone. Wondering what is the best thing to do to avoid scaring the natives and triggering false alarm embarrassment, I decide that a sign probably wouldn’t help. Beside, it feels spookily like tempting fate.
As the wind blows, autumn leaves flutter down, falling on my face. I begin to wonder what it would be like to lie here forever, slowly being covered by leaves, dissipating outwards, becoming part of the living entity that is a forest floor. I idly speculate on what the world would look like if you could take away everything but the life that inhabits it. I imagine it would look like an intricate, sparkling silver web; each life forming a knot in the threads, constantly raveling and unraveling. My cold feet demand my attention again and I think fondly of warm slippers and sticky toffee pudding.
I move, I sit, I doze, I write and I sketch. The day seems long but dusk falls sooner than I expect.
