The crows were talking to one another, wheeling and alarmed. I didn't know what the noise was all about. A few moments later, two curling birds of prey came into view, their underbellies creamy and soft. I watched them from partial shade.

One of three ridges. I wasn't sure which one, or which way I was facing, but I like being up high under the cover of trees.

Elevated. Blue hills peaking through leaves on either side. You sweat to get here. Whenever and wherever land falls away, there you have views.

On the trees, mushrooms climb like shells.

Dry beards of pale green moss, or something related to moss.

Two young stags crossed my path, quieter than the squirrels. I watched them disappear. I thought continuously about bears - how I wanted to avoid them and see them at the same time. In the unclear distance, a single gunshot.

Pain modulates to and from my right knee. It gets worse if I think it's a problem. Sometimes, as you merge onto a highway, people accelerate to actively cut off your entrance. This behaviour baffles me, more than most things. People are difficult to know.

A woman I once lived with got upset when I carried a wooden desk that wasn't being used into my bedroom. There was a language barrier between us. I couldn't quite understand her concern, but I gathered it had something to do with the desk being haunted, the carved wood harbouring spirits that didn't want to be moved. I cleaned the desk carefully with tissue paper and non-bleach spray.