The Matsuri Man

Posted: September 4, 2014 in Uncategorized

The only thing more prevalent that the wind shoving the trees violently was the darkness in the forest. It smelled of rain, but even the tops of the tallest trees stayed dry as they leaned easterly, stretching to touch their neighbor, another living thing for once but being rebuffed as their companion moved the same direction. The way a girl recoils in unnatural lean when a boy presents her with a toad held cupped in his hands. The forest did not move in concert, however, thanks to the patterns of its growth and the nudging of the invisible force, the oaks and pines moved like heads during a ballad at a concert, in slow rhythmic bobs but with no synchronization among them. Just always to the east, then snap back to the west. 20 degrees out, 12 degrees Newtonian. It was a noisy party in the quietest part of the world, held in hushes and deliberate movement but ready to stop the moment the parents came home. No trees fell that night, but if you were there, you would most certainly hear them.


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