Temporary Refuge

I jump past him and his weapon as I run for cover, crouching under the table for a brief escape. His cursing and shouting follow as Mahoney chairs crash into each other, the crack of the belt against furniture as it scores several misses. The small protected space under the table lasts only briefly before he snatches the table away. Exposed, I run. The dampness of the evening air hits my face hard and cools my flailing arms and legs as I run. In the woods, my steps slow, but land hard while pine cones and blackberry bushes invade the skin of my feet and legs. As I move further from the house, the echo of Robert and the belt weakens. Deeper in now, the trees embrace me, a citadel of wooden soldiers falling in behind me. Slowing, my hands land against an old oak tree; I twist and slide down into a space framed by its above-ground roots. The last echo and the dim light of dusk have disappeared, and my heart slows to match quiet stillness of the woods. Resting now against the tree on a bed of leaves, my body is still. I am surrounded by the silent embrace of foliage, both living and dead.