I'd made it back to our special tree sitting spot before the few others (i)deciding "WHAT KIND" of writer to be(i) a gaseous mix of flashpan anger, deadly seriousness, and nothing to write with--no flint.

     As far as (i)how I was FEELING(i) would be something like a twisted cornucopia.  I cautiously walked towards a different forest road where I'd spent some solace-time with a "reformed" Native American man.  He 'd always been able to let my creative furies melt off of me while not pummeling me with (i)what's next?(i) questions or expecting eyes regarding food.  But that day before the creek passes through the walking path and after the Hatchery land, there was only the Unicorn Horn.

     "What was that one after?" She sank into a tree trunk rest and her cloth grocery bag sewn into a "backpack" stood for a second or two then flopped over.  The notebooks slid down the slope like a deck of cards just opened and stretched out of being a deck.  We just looked at them.  

     "One who or whom?" 

     "The advisor or person running the group or whatever." 

     "Kind of a speed round.  (i)Picture a serial killer.  List three details(i)." 

     "How 'bout the one with the bug lady?" 

     "Which one? There's two now." 

     "Really?" 

     "Cha." 

     "The (i)original(i) bug lady."

     "Did you know I never know if you people are angry when your being so dramatic?" 

     "Did you know I'm not being dramatic?" 

     "Seemed like she was looking for someone more science-oriented maybe to write her reports." 

     "I'll ask her." She whipped a pen out of her pocket and a notebook and started to write.  I ripped a clump of grass out of the pine needle covered dirt and threw it onto her notebook.  She didn't look up and said, "That's not nice." She brushed the dirt off after she slid the clump of grass off like it was a plate over a garbage can. 

     "What's your problem?" The Mr. and Mrs. of our little group almost walked by the spot but when he spied us, he added, "With it." 

     "With what?" She looked up and saw him seeing us and said, "Oh, there you are!  Do we have to climb up there?" She showed she'd found her boots with the heels.

     From deeper in the woods came another of us with two more people.  One kept on going down the trail.  "What are we looking at?" She asked looking at a kind of phone "monitor" and talking on a large cell phone.