| A year. A year I had waited for her to return to me. Winter came, snow fell heavy and deep. The wet thaw, the first buds of spring. The ripening of the soil, leaves in full glory. The heat and humidity of July, the hum of cicada’s in August. I waited a year. Until the very first white birch leaf fell in the forest behind my home. I knew she would appear soon, at the edge of the forest, taunting me. With a vine creeping up her leg. She would come to me soon. She always came with the fall. This time, I would be ready for her. So many times she had taunted me, led me on her merry games through her forest. How many times she had used my body for her own pleasure, entrapping me, snaring me with her vines, drowning me in her warm damp soil. I wasn’t going to let her do it to me again. I prepared carefully. And so late one afternoon, as I sat near the fire, I wasn’t surprised when I heard an indignant squeal coming from the forest edge. I smiled slowly. Pay back time. I took...
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