I knew better than to tell the doctors. They would have just increased my medications and left me a blathering drooling zombie, and I was not going to sacrifice any more of my mind in order to fulfill my obligations as a patient. They had their diagnosis, their neat little box to pack me in, but this unity of dimensions, this merging of time, space and being, they would have dismissed as psychosis and they would likely have kept me in there another three weeks, then released me into a tertiary care facility. But now that robin's singing pierces through and units me with the shining green leaves and the call of the raven overhead is my signal to watch and beware as I soar with the raven, and now I am its stomach filled with the putrefying remains of the dead squirrel it has just ingested. The powerline trail is wide, like a gravel road in the bush and it will carry me further and further still. A jogger runs past and his desperate gasping for air betrays his unwellness, his utter obsession with running and running and running and suddenly I am his legs and the stinking feet enclosed in his expensive runners that move with staccato force on the gravel. His T shirt is a flaming magenta passion screaming out frustration and fury to every branch extending its hungry leaves to a cruel and benevolent sun....
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