Travelling all night
Reach forest end.
Slow going
on motorbikes,
dodging the main,
opting for dirt.
Tracks thick with mud,
this time of year.
Riders wearing most of it.
Them and the bikes.
Ears and mouth and guards
full of mud.
Taste of sodden soil,
wet grass and worse.
Drink from water bottles.
Don’t wash.
Don’t waste.
Mist, their companion.
Throughout the night
lay heavier within the enveloping trees.
Ancient wood stretching out,
deeper than sight could see,
or mind imagine.
Fog swirled around headlamps.
The only bright disturbing the black.
Snapping sound.
Handlebars swung to focus light
to the forest.
Shape in the fog.
Their nightmares became real.
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