I heard a rabbit die in the thick of our wet woods once. Tried to imagine the pores of the hoarding undergrowth fill up with Red 5 as far as the eyes could see; such a wicked meal.
But I couldn’t quit looking at the leaves. Like I had dreamt it up; that scream. Even with the most lucid imaginings I don’t believe our kind can properly capture something so visceral. Like the powering velocity of a whip crack; we hear it in our minds but do not feel the wind at our ear.
For so long I sat waiting in the belly of the path, too full of fright and curiosity to move, while the trees with their gentle posturing, hung loose above us.