Post bloom excitement has now simmered into a forest ready for sleep. Cooler air now exhales from changing colors and recede their losses into the organic burial of their roots. I look above me and I see a projectile of birds thrown in higher altitudes and heading south as the night follows behind them. Changes surround me, and red dusk drowns my vision washed by hightide eyelids crashing back and forth violently. As lost as I am I know where I want to be, and a trek later I am brought to a creek. Downstream a she-howl pierces. Jolting spikes of hair on my back raise, and fight or flight kicks in immediately. I turn to my bloody left and growl back with my tail erect and my stance aggressive. But, I stop in the red silence. Does she want an answer to her cry? If I wait, I will be befallen love; still in my love I always see clearly. My flight of escape narrows gently; I will fight. Yet as my paws tread closer, I only see two feet wading in the creek. Fallen. Drowning in the sea.
The song which inspired this short prose-etry- Fall Creek Boys Choir