I was standing in a forest full of wild, overgrown bushes and undergrowth. The trees were incredibly tall, rising far into the sky, towering beyond my sight. Cedar, fir, oak, alder, and birch—their trunks were thick with moss and toadstools, and lacework moss dripped from the boughs, swaying in the faint breeze that wafted past me. The deciduous trees were covered with a medley of red and orange leaves, burnished gold and yellow, and from every branch dripped the last vestiges of some autumn rainstorm. I stood, examining myself, but I seemed to be okay. No bumps, bruises, or cuts. I glanced around, wondering if I was dreaming. I seemed to be standing on a path that led deep into the forest, and a compulsion drove me to take off jogging down it. Wherever I was, there was something ahead waiting for me. I raced along, my speed picking up as I ran. The trees flew by in a blur, and I realized how much I was enjoying the movement. My body felt so alive, zinging with energy, full with the chase.
