She doesn’t see the walk light turn.
She doesn’t see the world.
She has slipped away from it now, taken her mind to a better place. The gentle tug of the leash against her semi-numb skin has disappeared; the faint sound of a car alarm from down the block has faded. The steady thrum of electricity of which she used to be mostly unaware is now completely gone.
In her mind everything is quiet.
She can relax here, in the small place she has constructed between one breath and the next. She can live an entire life in this forest, beneath these towering pines which she has built from glossy 8 1/2 by 11 photographs in the coffee table books she checks out from the library every Saturday afternoon. She has never run through a blanket of shed needles, felt their pricklish tickles on the bottom of her bare but callused feet, but in her mind she laughs as she does, as she runs so fast the air whistles through the hoops of her earrings. There are no people here, no sound at all other than the whistling air, her pounding feet, and the occasional bird call. No heartbeat here, no laboured breath. No wind in the trees, no gunfire or squirrels or shouting or insects, nothing to disturb the peace. Her traitor body could never do this in the real world, but here she leaps over a fallen log with liquid grace, doesn’t miss a beat as her feet sink into soft moss and a carpet of wildflowers. She doesn’t slow to take a closer look, only runs, and runs, and knows true freedom even the small box in the back of her mind.
She blinks, and sees the light.
She crosses, and smells asphalt and gasoline, and under it, the lingering scent of pine.
She smiles.
.
.
Image courtesy of Stuart Thursby. Stuart is an art director and photographer, currently adventuring in the wilds of Germany, where this photo was taken. To see more of his work, or to check out his portfolio, please visit StuartThursby.com.