I slipped into a stream of consciousness

Darker and cooler because it was still wet from an afternoon shower. The cave stunk like dirt and earth and roots dangling down. I gripped at the columns of clay and silt and the hunks came off in crumbly appreciation. My thumbs were black. I dug further into the edge of the cave until I felt the soil change into something firmer and more resistant. The roots that hung from the ceiling were thicker here, and tangled together to form a canopy of wood. The stones that cemented the floor of the cave were smooth clammy limestone and I could easily lay across them. I knelt down near a cavity filled with still, patient water. It had never been touched. I hovered my hand, outstretched, over the puddle. I felt the air between my skin and the mineral soup. As they reached the pool, my fingers turned into roots and I understood what they might have been whispering.

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