Dew droplets cling to a furrowed brow, threatening to drip into my eyes. I do my best to ignore them. Focus is everything right now. I’m contemplating a hook, and my king side bishop is sweating. She’s played aggressively so far, and I don’t know to what ends she’s willing to go. She moves like a damn snake: unpredictable, yet frustratingly precise. I’m distracted again, this time by a shiver running down my spine. It’s mid morning, and we’re outdoors. Actually, we’re far from any doors, unless you count the tent flaps swaying in the breeze behind us.

A songbird cheers me on. Or… perhaps it’s mocking me. I don’t speak bird. But there I go again, being distracted. I reach out, and the moisture accumulated on my wrist flings from my elbow across the board as I make a daring and foolish move. I regret it as soon as she smirks and meets my eye, and I silently curse the bird. Must be on her side after all.

I shiver again. My bare back endures much of the frigid morning air, but my naked ass sitting on a large cold stone has it worse.

Strip chess was NOT my brightest idea.

A warm smile emerges from the thick bundle of clothes sitting across from me. She’s already won, and at this point, she’s teasing me. I’ll play it out though, if nothing else, to keep my socks on for a few final moments before I’m completely free from the fabric. A few more desperate maneuvers play out on the board as I try to keep my king upright before she claims him in ruthless finality. He belongs to her, as always!

I stand up. My body shakes while I reach out to shake her hand. Her touch is so warm, I melt from my hand out to the tip of my head and my heels. A firm congratulations on my defeat sends my hands to my feet, peeling each sock from my poor toes. The grass, however, feels nice on my bare feet. I’m grounded in this forest, freezing though I am, a man and nature with nothing in between. She watches me walk gingerly to our pile of wood to restart the fire. I can feel her eyes on me, inspecting everything, presumably enjoying the way I look so out of place and yet so close to home out here. There’s… hopefully… no one out here but us and the creatures, who have no shame, no need to cover up (and enough fur to keep them warm).

But as I kindle a flame, bent down on my hands and knees, she reminds me of the consequence of my hubris: she thinks that I’m a little too comfortable with this situation. She wants more. Her verdict makes me ache: I won’t be getting my clothes back until tonight, after we’ve finished our arboreal getaway and hiked all the way back to the car to go home. The songbird tweets and twoots, and now I’m certain that he’s been listening in!