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Have you ever walked to the edge of a forest and just listened?
Have you ever stood on the threshold of the world you know and the forest, and just listened?
If you’ve ever listened, as you stand on the very edge, on the divide between two worlds, you will hear the trees murmuring softly to themselves, you will hear them as they chat and laugh and cry and complain, you will hear the trees talking about the people that have passed through the forest, perhaps a long time before, and of people that are yet to pass through, but do you listen then the forests whisper your name?
Have you ever noticed that when you step inside the forest, those first few steps feel like entering somewhere else, the same feeling one would get walking into a cave, a place out of time, untouched and old, where the air smells of years past and the surroundings swallow you whole.
After those first few steps in, once you’ve crossed the gap and left the world you knew and were comfortable not being known in, you will feel something close behind you, the same dull thud of a heavy door slotting closed, but you don’t really hear it, there was never a sound, but you feel it, the resonating thud in your ears and heart.
Welcome the trees whisper.
Welcome back they amend, this isn’t the first time you’ve been in the forest, to them you’ve been in and out your whole life, a flitting little child, running around and weaving away from rooted fingers and branched hands to what you are now, a person who doesn’t know why they feel welcome because they’ve never been in the forest, a person who doesn’t yet know that you have always been there, and you never really left, you merely forgot your visits because your body has never been to the forest before but you’ve crossed over since you were a small frightened child.
The thing about forests is that time doesn’t really work inside them, time in a forest is not the ebb and flow of time as it is in our world, the forests play with time as they want, it flows through them like water, the currents stronger in some places then in others, the waters still and crystal and deceivingly calm. When the forests speak of people yet to come, they’re not really yet to come, they are both inside the forest and outside all at once, because time doesn’t work the way it does in our world, time will bend for the trees so as to not disturb them. Time knows that the trees are not something to be disturbed.
Something takes your hand gently, but it doesn’t, and you let the nothing guide you deeper into the forest, for a moment you don’t hear the whispers anymore, the trees no longer speak, the wind just rustles through leaves in faint rustling sounds you’ve grown accustomed to hearing, now they are not comforting, the trees should not be silent, but you know that trees don’t speak, you’ve never hear the willow outside your house whisper, but yes you have, you’ve seen it’s drooping hands reaching out to caress your hair, cheeks and eyelids, you’ve hear it whispers hello little one but you also haven’t.
The wind stops blowing through the trees and then there is silence, but only for a moment before the trees begin to talk again, they no longer rustle and shake, now they observe and whisper, they are watching you and looking to see what you will do, they want to see if you’re listening.
You are.
You continue further, fingers curling around the thing that is and isn’t holding your hand.
There’s a strangeness to the forest that comes from it’s age and your youth, but the forest knows what you want, it knows what you need, and it changes and morphs.
You see it in the corner of your eyes in the from of trees that shift too much, branches that whip away much too quickly; you hear it in the soft crunching of hooves that belong to horned creatures that dwell in the corner of your vision, content to reside in the shadows that cage the path.
Your hand is no longer being held, it never was, now the nothing stands behind you. It whispers in your ear we made this for you, do you like it? But it doesn’t whisper it in your ear, you only hear it in your head as it blankets your thoughts.
The scene seeps into your awareness and a smile, loose and lovely, settles onto your lips.
The trees laugh fondly and and whisper to themselves compliments, they are no longer talking to you, their words are more airy again, perhaps they were never clear in the first place, perhaps they were never words.
Your mind is no longer aware of the trees, they are no longer speaking, they wait again
They crafted a beautiful scene for you, they rearranged and grew just for you, just to make you happy, they know you are happy.
The grass is plush when you lay down in it and it kisses at your cheeks and curls under your palms. The trees overhead move to block the light.
You smile again, content and at ease.
The trees smile back, but they do not, trees cannot smile.
Roots emerge underneath you and embrace you, but they have always been there, they do not emerge, you are now simple aware they they are there
We are happy you like what we have made for you, they say in pleasant little whispers as the flowers that might have always been bloomed around your head caress your hair and crown you in a halo of what look to be daisies, but you can’t be sure, they sometimes appear white flowers that look like paper, sometimes they are red roses, you do not question it because it would be rude to question the gesture.
You close your eyes and let the whisper of the trees blanket over your thoughts, though you cannot hear them and trees cannot speak.
You then are standing at the edge again, looking out at the world that you left behind and unknown amount of time ago, you cannot be sure if you merely passed through the forest or if you stayed to chat for a while, the height of the sun says it must not have been long, but the branched hands gently arranging your hair that aren’t really there, the scent of moss and decay in your lungs, and the cool kiss of the dew that doesn’t exist on your cheeks all say that you have been a while, though you do not know how long or where you were.
The trees begin to speak again, in that soft and delicate way they whisper and sway, there is no wind, but the trees are not silent.
Goodbye
Come back
Visit us again
The trees want and desire, even though they shouldn’t be able to, they call and kiss and embrace you, even though you are alone at the edge of the forest.
As you take the few steps needed to exit you feel it again, the dull resonating thud of a door clicking shut, and then a quiet whisper speaks, though it is not louder than the sound of a gentle breeze, it is heard, come back home child, we will be here when you are ready.
Next time you stand in front of a forest you should stop and think to yourself, do you listen to the forest when it whispers your name?