Forest

I was born beneath the damp dark earth.

The womb that held me was cool and rich, teeming with the nutrients of decay, of dead rotting oak leaves and the smells of black dirt, of worms and old apples, and the brighter, pungent scent of scampering animals somewhere nearby.

I loved that I was being born into this strange symbolic system of the old, the end of things, of the dead giving way to new life, new beginning. Death feeding the new life, as is the cyclic way of things.

Fresh rain water trickled through the porous encasing that surrounded me. There were sounds everywhere too, the pattering of droplets, the rustle of the wind through brown and red leaves, scratches and scuffles, the crows moan, the squirrels natter. A peaceful cacophony.

I crept shyly, slowly through the mud and dirt to peek to the other side, earth side. I had to fight my way through layers of dry leaves, spread like a burned blanket across the life thriving here on the forest floor.

I was curious. I peered around me, hoping my smooth little brown head wouldn’t be noticed, at least not for a while, by deer or rodent or human. I wouldn’t be able to run if they found me. I watched the playful wind flirt with the oak’s emptying branches; she pushed and pulled until the oak gave a shiver and scattered another armful of swirling leaves.

The air was cool, fresh. The moss that flowed over the floor, covering old root and trunk, was soft and green, like sponge, like ocean water. I felt a great longing to touch it, but it was just out of reach. I asked it if it wouldn’t mind moving a little closer, but the moss didn’t answer.      

Then I felt the atmosphere in our forest home alter, as the air beyond the canopy became electric and excited. I was frightened and I wished to cover myself back up with the leaf-blanket but I couldn’t so I stood there, baring my face to the growing wind and rain as the sky lit up then rumbled, and more leaves tumbled down all around.

Darkness rolled in and the creatures that could, scattered to find shelter. I continued to stand there alone, tiny and defenceless, immobile, embracing the storm as she drew nearer. The wind screamed hysterically and the thunder complained and the lightning cracked, sending shocks of silver through the sky.

And I held on, waiting, trembling.

How nice it would be to be so untouchable, I thought. To be the one who ruled over everything, the one whom no one can control – how nice it would be to be the storm.