The light trickles down through the forest as lazy beams to lay in pools among the undergrowth. One foot in front of the other I move through the wilderness, the scents of the forest fill my lungs; the nitrogen rich smells of rain mixed with woodsy rot indicate life in one stage or another is happening all around me.
I keep walking and admiring my surroundings, determined to get well and really lost, this time. It is difficult to hunt and play the part of prey at the same time. I have been trying to catch one more glimpse of the God of this place to confirm my childhood memories are memories, not just dreams of a wayward child.
I stop for a break at a tiny, choked-up stream, setting my pack down beneath a suitable sitting tree and myself alongside it. I look up to the sky, the light filtering through the treetops and dancing shadows. It feels wonderful here, serene and complete. I am an intruder, I know, but the suspicious eyes of the forest watch me without condemnation; for the moment there, is a truce.
I don’t know how or when, exactly, I fell asleep, but I open my eyes and the light has changed slightly, indicating the afternoon has come in wake of morning. The light filters down at different angles in its retreat from twilight.
Something stirs in my left field of vision. I carefully look out of the corner of my eye, but I see only trees. I try to sit up, but something holds me down. I look around to find myself covered in vines and roots, grown around my body to hold me down in my sleep. I catch the movement from the corner of my eye again, and turn my head fully to look. Still trees, yes, but… more. My eyes unfocus enough to see the bigger picture and it’s … a giant being made up of forest trees, stooped, but at least 30 feet tall, reminiscent of a grandfather, gnarled roots for hands that creak as he moves and a powerful feeling of wisdom, gentle with caution, in his gaze. His body is comprised of interlocking tree, trunks and limbs woven together to create a a sturdy being.
“You ARE real,” is all I can say, breathless. Finally. Yes! The forest God is real. I didn’t have nightmares as a child. He is exactly as I remember, little white flowers in his hair and beard, and he is still and silent as the forest has ever been.
“As are you, my dryad daughter,” came his voice, deep and dark as the rich, black earth around us, yet creaking as an antique rocking chair. “Welcome. I am glad you have found your way back home.” At his smile, my human life fades like a nightmare and I know I’m exactly where I belong.
Rabid Writes 