Woods

I woke in a slide of leaves. Stumbling to lift as if the world was holding on with hands decorated in passes of early morning. Each leaf color; the wide-palm orange or the slender fingers of red, each hue clung on to my shirt and jeans.

Then leaving as every sense came to.

For a moment forgetting how I came here, and why; I remember the wind shake with the peace of being awake before I began to clean away the dirt under my nails.

- Water - 

My first thought every morning.

"Never enough water."

If there were commandments for bands, that would be high up on it. Top 5 at least. 

I lifted myself with an unfamiliar bark, white and stripping, that sliced in my palm as I leaned. A sting barely registered on my mind. Blind to one focus. - Never enough water - 

I moved towards the tents.  Where people waited again.

"And water."

Every one in the band was still asleep in the early morning. 

I found a pair of boots outside of one tent. A backpack. A set of woman's sneakers outside of another.

And finally sneaking behind the drummer's tent to an ice chest.

Pooled with melted ice, and leaves and a desperate beetle floating inside. 

Somehow had trapped itself in the shelter of empty ice bag. Scooping out the beetle that flinched in my hand, twisting wildly on the ground as I set to washing my hands and face in the cold. 

And finding underneath a heaven in plastic. A rush so cold it stung my throat as the bottle of water emptied away.

I do this thing I learned from my father. Every time.  Literally crushing water bottles, so they take up less space in the trash. It's habit now. 

So in under a minute when the water is gone and I crush the bottle as tight as I can. The bottle pushed back against my hand,  against the cut from the tree.

And I bled with the condensation in drops, fell pink to the dirt. To the leaves fading.

My palm just under the left thumb. I carried this scar with me for a while. During the next few shows after, I felt it sting when I played and twisted my hand a certain way. 

It stayed.

That night stayed.

And even in these words the night stays.

No you don't have to be big or devastating to leave an impact. To make an impression on someone they can remember.  

From you. 

On some different day.  

When they remember a night in the woods.

-rene


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mood: Fluff