Ibis Nights: Detritus


Leaves. They litter the ground in the oak woodland. In places where feet rarely tread they lie deep, like a spongy mat. A crunchy, spongy mat, more accurately. We have had enough dry weather now, enough feet have pounded along this path, enough tires ground along the narrow ribbon winding between trees and shrubs, that tracks are being tattooed into the deepening soft stuff. It seems as though it was just two weeks ago that the surface here was firm enough to comfortably bend around the scarred skins of the trees. That soft stuff makes those turns a touch and go matter now.

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