[Editor’s note: This post was originally submitted for a MatadorU workshop here.]
Something is continuously falling. I close my eyes and concentrate. I can hear the faintness of the wind, but not before I feel its slight brush on my skin. A breeze breaks the delicate last bonds between the Sitka Spruce needles and their branches. The needles tumble past my ears and I hear them collect on the ground. In the distance, the Hoh River faintly rumbles and I visually place myself on its bank, trying to create a contrast in sound to the details I am hearing now.