She had walked for days on her own, with her pack on her back, through the rainforest. She had forgotten that there were other people. Her face had been changed by living among trees. She had become converted and cleaned, and was more sensible than she had ever been before. She began to understand her own existence, the logistics of life, the mathematics of breath. In the evening, she lay in her sleeping bag on the ground-sheet and felt small. She realised this was the experience of writing and all creation.
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