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I look out over the woods behind my home and see it.
I strain, moving left and right to get a good view,
But I can’t pin it down.
It’s there. I know it’s there.
I step off the deck and move closer to the tree line,
The sharp sides of acorns sting under my bare feet.
I peer into the half-dead trees and yellowed leaves and hardened Earth.
The silence changes the pressure in my ears and chest.
The weight of the air hovers on top of me,
Every exhale a deep-cutting wind.
I keep looking, squinting and looking.
There it is.
There it was.
A blur.

I stand still, like the early-morning stillness of a lake.
The fog moving low and traipsing on the surface.
I inhale deeply and hold my breath.
I can hear and feel and see my organs working in my skin.
Their movement echoing across the forest’s brown floor.
My eyes water, the trickle of a creek moving over smooth rocks.
My chest burns, the lack of oxygen incinerating my lungs.
I focus through the water and push through the fire and glance through the woods.
One last time.

I see it move. A blur shifting through the branches and bushes and sticks.
Kicking up debris on the dirt floor.
Moving through and around and above and below everything.
With a cough that tears at my throat, I lean forward and release the stale air from my body,
Wiping away the tears with the back of my hand
As I glance up
And watch it go.