The hills retreat across the valley in the embrace of the horizon. Ruminants meander pine filled forests seeking the mycophiles hidden beneath and between. Ancient Indian chants bring the poison from the acorn. The ground shifts toward confession.
You see the break of the path. The shadows open and then retreat. Your breath now gains immediacy, need. Hillocks of broken geology lurch upward and out of blackened dirt. Gravity gives you purchase as the life of forest takes you in.

Better to keep moving