September 4th, 2026

I awaken among the roots beneath a grand tree, so immense that I must crane my neck to glimpse its crown. I look up with joy despite the ache, straining to take in the whole impossible sight.

The earth has buried me in mud, and my hands claw through the thick soil until I break the surface. I rise from the grassy mound at the tree’s base, gasping as I draw a deep breath. It feels as though I am breathing for the first time. The air is cool and crisp, carrying the first warning of autumn.

With each breath, a new self begins to form within me. My mind resists it as my underground identity fades in the daylight. A pit opens in my stomach, and an ache throbs in my head. When night settles over the tree, I curl into my new grassy bed and toss beneath the moonlight. Through the long hours, awareness drips into me, slowly and steadily, like water from a leaky faucet.

By dawn, dew beads across my body, and each droplet reminds me of my former self slipping down the drain. I brush the moisture away, running my hands over myself to discover what remains. If only my hands had eyes, they might show me what I have become. Perhaps then I could sense tomorrow.

Unable to see myself, I turn my gaze outward. I look up at the tree once more and begin counting its leaves, as though each one were an eye watching the world awaken with me. Someone must record this marvel. I realize that someone is me.

In wonder and awakening,

Nicole Asbjorn