May 21st, 2010.

I climb up the hill, assaulting the fort.
I smoke and sit, filing the watchtower hole,
fireman's pole at reach for immediate escape.
A subject saunters over the hill. Wolf.
I'm a hunter now.
It's Oregon Trail.
The wolf dog scopes the grounds, then heeds his beckoning,
a master whistle.

(exit wolf dog over grassy knoll, right stage)

I lean back, wind slipping through a curve of trees before
threading my hair.
The broad-leaf beside me rustles thunder as they all do.
The sound silks over me with the wind and I remember the
natural aspects.