As a boy, I played in the woods – acres and acres of tree-thick hills, down by the Wabash River. That wood was riddled with animal trails, creek beds, and logging roads. I played many and various games there, such as pretending a big fallen tree was a pirate ship, designing floorplans of huge mansions on the leaf-strewn ground with a rake, damming up creeks, sticks-are-swords, first/last-man-on-Earth and such. My favorite game by far was to get lost. This was not easy, because I knew the wood well, but once in a while I would manage to lose track of where I was. Being lost was my favorite feeling. The world would transform, all becoming unfamiliar, and my senses would heighten – twig snaps like rifle cracks – as all manner of possibility manifested: maybe I would find something new and amazing; maybe I had crossed over to another world…
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somethinks 