1975

She entered the woods after the rain had stopped, following a steep abandoned lumber trail. The young birch and aspen were windows of shattered, shimmering light and the thick old trees were walls of darkness. The forest glistened, even in its darkest places. Water droplets trembled on the bushes, even when the leaves were still, and often fell. Among the last year's autumn leaves red trilliums drooped their heads and swayed slightly as the forest air crept over them from trunk to trunk, as if a child's finger were touching them. She longed to give them life.