Finding himself

Where was this supposed to be, this place where he found himself? Time might tell, but it seemed to be a thing he should know. His not knowing didn't just make him uncomfortable, it amused him. Not funny-ha-ha amusing, but amusing nonetheless. Looking up he saw the sky, blue, clear, cloud,less, like the sky everywhere else. Around him trees, the worn narrow path he found himself on, rocks, grass, dirt. Any where, and here. A deep breath, clean, fresh, cool air. The smell of the woods. He could see his breath... late fall. He had the sense he was late, for what he did not know, but he was late. He was pretty sure it didn't matter.

He had not moved. He realized he had not moved. He was tense, stiff, but not fixed in place. He made his shoulders relax, and took a deep breath. He turned around slowly taking it all in. He knew this place. It was where it all started. He felt a moment's angst: I do not want to live this again. He was suddenly anxious. Very anxious. Pulse quickened. Breathing quickened. He did not know what was next.  Another deep breath. A pause. He calmed. Now was not the time to panic. He was not the panicking type.

He took a step forward. He knew it was forward. This time it might be different, but he would need to remember.

And remember he would.

He started running, and he grew confident. He had no idea what was next, but he knew he was smarter, aware, and that he had done this before.

This time, he knew.