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Written in the woods

The evergreens weave green-gray fractals overhead. Climbing slippery deadfall in the near-dark to get here, I never broke one ankle. Not one. When I got back to this favorite place, the area was unsoaked. A special sort of tree held my spot for me, and the soft bed of pine needles is still dry after days of hardcore rain.

Even the blanket I’d rolled and tucked into a canvas bag and wedged between branches is exactly where I left it. Okay, so it’s not a blanket. It’s a dog bed. But it’s really thick and it keeps two-thirds of me quite warm.

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