The Coppice

6

Stepping stone stumps. Again and again. Avoiding the snow. Has a kind of feeling; doomed if he places a foot below.

The man avoids the nests when he can. As much as he can. The eyeless wine dark stranger forced him to think maybe he's in another world, like some other place has sat its haunches down upon the periphery of this country. This strange horrible slaughtered land. It's like Father Time butchered Mother Nature and laid trophies of her bits and pieces across the topography of intuition. All that's left are antinomies.

The temperature isn't what it should be for this time of year, either. Too warm. And the snow isn't melting. Maybe it's not snow in this vicinity. Not like the known snow.

Sweating in underclothes. Damp. Understands hidrosis will be bad when the temperature falls as cold as it should be. When God's lips curl around the bottom of His Cocytus face.

Takes gloves off. Pockets them. Pulls hood down. Wet matte sable hair.

The stump path pavers lead to an unavoidable nest. A much taller nest. Branches like a mass of antlers protrude. Some of the aerie wall is made of actual antlers. Moose and elk. Horns and vertebrates of unknown creatures. Climbs up carefully and balances on the weave of timber spinal limb structure. Jumps. Lands with a snap of dead tree bits. Pine needles like a floor of old rust. Fingernails and hair. Floral decay.

Turns from the nest wall to continue. Peers down. Stops abruptly. Frozen stillness.

"Christ fuck."

His posture reckons a confrontation between epistemology and belief, written like a long lost recollection carved into his being.

Memory collapses like a screaming avalanche upon his intentions. The hairs on his body rise under bumps.

A frail, blue skin, naked woman lays in the middle of the nest. Blonde and gray. Sprawling. Arms horizontal above her head. Spine in a curving contortion. Her crotch holds a large girth of branches that seem to penetrate through her belly bulge body and sprout from her mouth. Sprout where her ears were. Breasts hang to each side like gravity owns them. Black lips. Eyeless hollows in her head. She's a ruin.

A tattoo of a bear silhouette on her forearm. A cataract eye in the middle of the Arctodus.

He quickly steps over her. Carefully avoids witnessing down. Crushes more needles and twigs and little bones. Hurries to grasp and climb over the other side. Reaches. Touches a rough knot. Sliver. Quietly swears. Begins to pull himself up the flayed bark of jacks and racks. Stops his momentum. Sighs. Turns his eyes back. Sweat tastes salty. Witnesses tiny eyes within the woman's hollows blink and close. Not her eyes.

Climbs back down into the nest. Crunches more dead bits as he walks back. Kneels beside her.

Fidgets in his coat pocket. Glasses. Finds the butane lighter. Grips it tight for a moment. Head bows. Can't look at her.

"Im'a burn these nests after I find em. Burn 'em all. Destroy this place in the colour of a sizzlin' blood and drippin' autumn. Christ, I'll. If not for 'em, then for you."

A tear waters his hard cheek. Rivulets through the forest of his beard and into his mouth. Forever salty. Shakes his head. Releases the lighter and wipes his eye and cheek.

Raises his head to let his eyes speak to the bright empty sky. Breathes sorrowful rage into the air. Witnesses his breath fume like tethers of smoke beginning inches above his face. Like an apparitional barrier haunts high above his head in the reflection of Old Sol upon the words he will never be able to say to her again.

Focuses down. Avoids witnessing her directly. Remembers the coldest winter of his life when his soul vanished. Finds his courage. Lays wide, dull eyes upon her.

Takes in fully the spectacle of her remains. Thinks about what he could've been. Who he should've been. Thinks about what he is. Interprets the memory of her through his defeated intentions. Scrapes the hewing axe across the ravages of pine innards on the side of the nest. Antler snaps.

"This place took you from me. A lifetime ago. A decade. Christ. Fucking Christ. Oh, my woman. I'll avenge you. My poor woman. Now I know what's become. That drunk I knocked up has nothing on you. Never did. Never will."

His face becomes iron. Serious like the mocking laughter of angels weighing their worlds upon his shoulders.

"I'm sorry. You understand. Can't die tryin' find you justice. I need ta find m' boy. Know you understand. I've rage but can't. His sake. He should'a been our boy. I guess that drunk does have a thing on you. But she's not one to do with you, my love. My soul."

He motions to touch her. Stops just before. Doesn't.

"I love ya, woman. Can't pull you out and take you back. I'll do the best to burn this place after I find him. When he's safe. I have to choose and I've chosen. Christ, I miss you. I'm sorry. So sorry, my woman. Fuck Jesus, I'm so sorry."