I wake up this morning with a thick head fog. Flashbacks of moving trees and moist soil under my feet, howling at the moon in the dam. There’s a phrase floating in the fog that I can’t make out, the remnants of a dream like red wine sediment or lipstick on a wine glass. I have to take it down before sunlight spills through it and I forget everything. I roll over and hit V on the keyboard expecting to paste my thoughts into notepad and for a moment I just stare at the cursor.

I laugh at myself and then quickly type out:

‘I am as free as nature first made man, when wild in the woods the Noble Savage ran’

As I stretch out, I discover I’m not alone in bed … next to me, in my hair, all over the sheets – I find leaves, shrubs and soil from running through the woods last night.

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