Forest by Linksquest
Long streaks of golden light fall down from an azure sky through tall, majestic trees. Carpeted with green is the forest floor, soft moss making every step a cushioned delight. Birds call to one another joyously in their native tongues. This is a place which echoes tales spun with dancing eyes by firelight. What lies beyond the next bend; a path of orange-hued leaves, or another long stretch of mythic woods?
A small clearing comes into view, set apart from the endless magic of nature, there is a break where the sign of a creature’s life is present: a stone bench and a stone table surrounded by ferns and toadstools; scattered, smooth stones lie silently in their cool slumber amongst the undergrowth.
A canopy of green is above; the sun continues to break through and filter its life-giving brightness to the life below. I sit cautiously on the stone bench before the stone table, not wishing to upset any sort of sacred lore that was told in this place. Fireflies sparkle in the deep purple shadows of the forest.
The stone bench is weather-worn to a comfortable, cool smoothness. The smell of sweet earth and the light fragrance of honeysuckle waft through the air on the sound of sparkling gems away off somewhere beyond the sound of tickling streams and giggling brooks. The sweet taste of chamomile is within the air, blue and yellow faeries singing gently of beauties and of beasts.
One cannot help but to be happy here. Children’s laughter is on the gentle breeze, the light warmth from the sun caressing my face. Clear, reflective pools wish amongst the red ferns and the blue roses. There is a silver pearl on a lily pad, glowing like a small moon at twilight.
I rest and drink in the ambrosia of this pleasant place. A gentle, warm rain falls from shining heavens. I listen to the cooing of the doves and the slight rustle of butterflies’ wings and I wonder why more people do not venture to this forest. This place rests beyond that fence never ventured beyond, the tree never climbed, the ocean never swum, the air never flown.
In a world where settling for what others want for our lives and tell us we are capable of is the common practice, this ethereal place will remain an uncommon fantasy.
“Let the dreams enter the real world. Let this place grow out amongst the chrome and glass buildings. Only then will the magic of this place become a balm to a wounded world.â€