In the forest it was very green. Green was creeping
up from under the bottoms of feet. I did not like

the bottoms of feet. I was thirty-eight, and trees
were unappealing. “Um,” said Bertram. “Yes?”

“The feet are moving closer.” “Yes,” I said. It appeared
that the feet were moving closer. Beyond the feet

were the deer, which were in a circle. Circles were
generous things. I was wary of their promises.

It seemed Bertram was polishing his shoes. I was
turning the circle. There was a perfect air. The trees,

however, were not beautiful. “Um,” said Bertram,
looking left and right. “Yes?” “Do you feel the heat?”

I thought about it. “Yes.” “That swimming heat?”
In fact, I did feel the heat. I felt it swimming. It was

swimming under, well, my feet. We started pacing
in a circle. Bertram fell on account of his shoelaces.

They were tied together in a smile. The deer looked
at us with their various eyes. They started to stack

themselves on top of one another. There was a fight
about who would be top of the heap. “But,” Bertram

said weakly. He picked up a branch and pointed at me.
“But where is the boy who looks after the sheep?”