It takes about fifteen minutes of brisk walking the trail for me to drop flat thoughts borne from city streets, and open to the forest's vertiginous mind. Uncertainty that feeds on the bones of animal spirits are the kind of speculations that with mossy flora float into view. Today I try a different trail, and lose direction. Getting lost is necessary. To wander is to wonder, the path is then a circle.

Further on, a man's kneeling before a flower, magenta-stained, growing by the side of the road.

"What's that?" I ask.
"Trillium," he says. "It'll be gone soon."



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