I've been sorting through things in the pretense of packing again... I'll be moving soon. And I keep finding little scraps of things I've written at one time or another and I've been reading them and crumpling them up into little balls that are now overflowing my waste basket on a daily basis...
And it just occured to me that even though I have this intense desire to throw them all away and kind of clean the slate... stop hoarding every little bit of anything... really free myself of material things... some of them might be fun for other people to read, even if they are just scraps and wisps... hardly spun.
So here is the first of perhaps many little bits of nothing... maybe someday I'll collect them and weave them into something substantial.
And so she stood alone and listened and could hear only three things: the wind rustling through the branches of the trees like a small happy child on a field-trip, her lungs filling with air and the same air being pushed out in a a half whistle between her pursed and thoughtful lips, and the rhythmic beating of her own heart pumping her blood through her body and reminding her that although she felt as if in a faerie-dream she really was awake. She really was alive.
She wasn't scared. She repeated that to herself again and again like a mantra. She wasn't scared. She'd been surviving on basic instinct and need, and she still had no clue how far from humanity she'd fallen. She hadn't had time yet to really consider fear an option.
Her clothes, though dry now, were still caked with the mud from the riverbank she'd crawled out of. Waking up spiting and spewing out the icy water was her first memory. Struggling against the strong current, realizing she was a confident and capable swimmer and making her way to the clay sweetened riverbank was her second.
After lying in a shivering heap on the bank for what seemed like an eternity she'd managed to scale the steep incline and to move from the cold shade of the trees into the bright May sunshine. How she knew the month was another mystery to her, for she couldn't remember her name or how she'd come to be here.