…Another wet evening, and yet another stroll into the thickets. The trees were drenched and as if out of sheer envy, they shook their branches to drench me. I had folded my trousers up to the knees and splashed the muddy waters of the puddles with alacrity like we did while walking to school on wet days (read everyday). A slippery looking toad hopped over my slippers and I chased it into the wet grass lining the forest pathway. Birds had come out of shelter to look for dinner before the next shower. There seemed to be plenty; butterflies flapped on those little yellow flowers growing out of the light green grass, earthworms wriggled their way out of the soaked soil and the rhythmic screech of insects preparing themselves for their nocturnal stint had already begun.

The water had grown louder since yesterday; I no longer heard those insects. The rotten wooden bridge was still intact. Five felled pine trees lay side by side like lifeless trolls; years of lashing water having caused considerable decay in their bodies. And walking over these trolls was no joke but I loved doing it most.
One…Two…One…Two…
The logs were big and cylindrical, slippery with the overgrowth of moss and fungi on them. I would walk with both arms stretched out sideways as a balancing act, slip and fall, one leg dangling down a crevice and the other kissing a fungus, then get up and resume. One…Two…One…Two…
I would do it for hours with nothing else on my mind. As if nothing else existed, just the dead pine trees, the restless stream beneath and insects screeching the background score.