Past the Mangroves and Up the Hill

Pocket doesn't need directions anymore -  mangroves, then the creek, then the hill that always feels steeper than he remembers, no matter how many times he's climbed it. And yet he leaves early every time, because he knows he'll be distracted. A mushroom that wasn't there yesterday. A feather caught on a fence. A stone worth pocketing, though he already has several just like it.

This collection is that walk, held still. A familiar path, walked slowly, by a craeture who has never once been in a hurry to arrive.

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