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I’m entering the park. Uncommon for this time of the year and for this city is that it’s covered with snow. The ground is hard, nevertheless slippery, and with the surface being uneven from weeks with shifting temperatures, half melted snow, half melted snow freezing again, I can feel every ice bump through the soles of my shoes. I walk at an extremely low pace. Hot garlic breath looks cool in minus degrees. A dealer walks, half slides up to me, offers me drugs, slides, half walks away again as I decline. I don’t pay any attention to the sky, as I know it’s gray anyway, just plain gray. The sun paid us a brief visit eleven days ago. The atmosphere is depressing, but I’m not blue, just scared.
Finally I reach the place where I have to step off the road and walk in to the little forest. After checking in every direction that no one is watching me, that no one can find out about and rob me of my secret, I start walking towards the centre of the trees. The snow is deeper and a lot softer here. It makes just the sound old snow makes when you walk in it; a smooth “crwoashj”. Joy develops in my stomach as I see his silhouette, which doesn’t cast a shadow tonight, because the moon isn’t out. This wonderful feeling works its way to my chest and to my head. I stand before him. His body is massive. It’s actually so tremendous it’s frightening, but his presence makes me feel safer than ever. I reach out my hand and he steps closer. It’s amazing how loud he breaths. With every breath he takes he makes a sound I’m not capable of making. His nose is wet, which I notice when he smells my hand, and not because it’s shiny, like the other times when there were sources of light making it possible for it to shine. I feel guilty about him meeting me here tonight. This isn’t a real forest, this isn’t a place where I imagine he feels comfortable and I have no idea how the hell he even manages to get here unseen time after time.
It’s ok for me to touch him now. I move around his antlers, being very careful not to come too near them, as I fear that might not be of his liking. For a few moments I stand there stroking his back, admiring the rough, dark fur on his skin. It feels natural after another few moments to stretch my arms around him, even though successfully doing so is impossible. I rest my head at a part near his shoulders. From there I can hear his heart beating, and every beat leaves a nice, prickly feeling on the skin of my face and neck. I wonder how big a moose’s heart is. It must be very big.
