Do you ever catch yourself imagining a different life?  Maybe even one that was impossible, utterly fantastic...in the fictional sense, as well as the amazing sense i suppose.  I realize that i do this every time i travel in the Midwest, and it's generally much the same.

As the trees speed by outside my window, i imagine that i can see deeper into the forest.  And it becomes magical there, beckoning to be in an ethereal sense.  The animals all convene in an unlikely way...an almost uncomfortable way.  Waiting.  And it dawns on me that they are expecting no one but me.  Sometimes the story darkens, and they don't just wait, they lie in wait.  Intentions much different, much more animalistic.

And i realize again that I'm just staring out my window, but i still feel the intense pull to look further through the trees.  To see if they're there, if they still wait, and if their eyes are the murderous color red i was expecting.