Maybe it’s because I haven’t left my apartment all day, but I have a sudden urge to be like Bear Grylls and immerse myself in the wild. It’s 9:20pm, but it’s still light.
I walk to the woods I like to run in on my occasional fit-freak days, and after some flower ogling and birdsong listening I’m in such a daze of nature filled dreams that I come over all Pocahontas and leave the main path. I’ve hiked a parallel track to this one before and know it leads back to the entrance, so I figure I’m OK scaling a few moss covered boulders and jiving in some crispy leaves before thinking about going home. In my earth-loving giddiness, however, I forget it’s getting dark until I trip over a root and finish facedown in a spread of anemones. Time to go.
I find my track. Power walking becomes jogging as every turn reveals a new wilderness. It’s not leading out! Ah crap, I’m lost in a Swedish wood. Giant hares morph from bunnies to monsters. Creaking branches claw at me like fingers, and—what the hell’s that!? A deer flashes before me. This Snow White’s truly freaked now, and somehow I don’t think the birds will save me. I start sprinting, heart pounding, towards some light and stumble onto a silent street.
Thank goodness! I’m out at last. I have no idea what side of the wood I’m on, but one thing’s for sure—I’m not going back in!