Pure Gin

“And everybody knows that it’s now or never, everybody knows that it’s me or you. Everybody knows that you live forever – when you’ve done a line or two.”
- Leonard Cohen

In the morning I was visited by forest spirits, dripping grey crud from the trees, crawling forward through the dewy sludge, towards me, towards me. Craggy faces and outstretched spidery digets seeking me where I lay under bone white sheets.

Fog smothered the house; an impermeable moist membrane keeping me and the spectres close.

On the eve of my 30th I think of nothing other than the years gone by, faces passing through the gloom, words spoken. Should I have climbed that branch or the one yonder; should I not have wiped the mud from my toes?

I shiver and pull the blankets closer. Outside wraiths whisper.