Adventure / Ars Poetica

Pine-needle path through autumn. A boy who doesn’t know where he’s going — the eyes he imagines in the shadows, the bridgeless river ahead, a girl he imagines waiting far down the path. Imagine it goes on for years like this. The path. The walking. The fear. The hope and someone to share it with. A wolf. Always a wolf in such places, a wolf, a wolf, a kiss, the promise of danger. None of it means what you think it does. What does it mean is the wrong question anyway. Ask instead how long until he crosses the river, the next river. The next. How long until the girl — it’s a love story, of course. All stories are love stories, even those stumbling through a dark forest.