What happens when you throw your best stuff away?

Car driving fast past an old sofa on the sidewalk.

She must hunt in the forest

Not to be known, but to be desired, and flown,
tonight she must hunt in the forest, alone,
pausing in the space between sound, between
words spoken and words known, and feared,
the hidden parts of her soul, her body wrapped
against the cold, she runs, she runs, breathing
hard, metal-bold, tonight the forest is home

(From my notebook.)

photo credits
(where not otherwise credited)

“Thrown away” / photograph by Ben Neale on Unsplash.com