poetic fiction

from one of my current works of poetic fiction

pungent...this air, a drink of oncoming forest...pine needles, soggy leaves, and moss underfoot.... he climbed the ridge trail. a guttural wail, the reverb from the next ridge over...the taste of fear. what the deep meant to harm, echoed inside his soul...he trembled. slipping through the shrub-boulder maze, he passed rusty-brown rhododendron to the site of his waning fire.

a cool whisper settled over the pit, where the day's remnants crumbled, threatening to dissipate into the darkness. a fine drizzle descended, and the forest view deteriorated into discord. in this dissonance, his heart raced, his head pounded, his frame stiffened.

but deep in the gray-green woodlands of that gathering darkness, a presence lingered. and though the sky and mountains melted into the night, the presence hid where no man could hide, between the realm of the known and the unknown...

he sat in his blue canvas chair and stirred the embers. the breeze. capturing branches above, the drops caught the ashes, dousing his hopes. there would be no warm meal tonight. 

he glanced at his tent, his home away from home, his shelter from any storm. the fire dead, he contemplated a cold piece of chicken left over from the Y Mart. a new day starts tomorrow, he mumbled...

but once deep in the depths of the valley, another stepped in to where the shadowlands had been. eyes came from behind the pines, red bullets that pierced the night....