Somewhere in the outer regions,
far past where most have dared to tread,
There is a forest.
And within this forest is a tangled maze,
an intricately designed web
That would make Robin Goodfellow
gawk and blush.
The forest is thick with underbrush,
its saplings let loose upon the land.
Brambles and vines cling to soil for their dear lives,
Some even hang by a mere precipice.
It is not for the faint of heart,
to trudge through this tall grass.
To bend and curve your way through a presence
long discarded by human hands,
Abandoned by all and left to its own devices.
It is evident more than ever
How much a fool’s errand this may be.
But still, I press onward.
I walk amongst brambles
and clusters of overgrown trees.
I am lost, but purposefully.
I am searching for something
I cannot quite comprehend.
Divinity?
Some arcane legend, perhaps?
It’s as unclear as the path ahead of me.
But I know it’s here.
I can feel the forest take me,
But I feel as if I am right to follow along,
in a seemingly endless pursuit through bramble.
I remember those who would call me a fool
To seek out this presence.
Heaven knows if you’ll even survive,
they would mock.
All this for a dying wish, they would think,
all this for an empty promise?
That's what I took with me the day I left.
Uncertainty.
The weight of my pack feels almost too much to bear
And I stop to rest on a rock.
I wipe the sweat from my brow
And take a sip of water.
I decide to camp here for the night,
Chastising my body for being less prepared
than my steadfast heart.
Almost in seconds, nightfall arrives.
On a clear moonlit night, the forest is almost translucent.
The thick bramble and under-brush glimmers,
A soft afterglow beckoning the light to follow.
The stars appear glistening, blinking,
Tethers in the endless fog,
Like some ethereal security latches.
You are not alone, they say,
but I see through lies easily.
Something drew me to the forest that day.
I am sure of it, and this frightens me.
Was it what I had pushed away from all this time,
Pretending I did not need it’s comfort,
Giving myself platitudes to encourage dullness?
I am doing that thinking again, which I always do.
And this is when it appears,
The specter hidden in the underbrush.
And they are elegantly dancing.
They are careening and wavering,
Swaying gently through fallen leaves,
They are untethered, careless, and free.
Not terrifying, as one would imagine,
But pleasant, and unperturbed.
I am half asleep, half transfixed by its beauty,
wondering if perhaps this is what I needed all along.
To see this place with my own eyes, to take in
what I feared others would chastise me for wanting,
Some halfwitted dare to follow along with.
It’s beauty overwhelms me, and I am caught,
Balancing within dreamlike
and eternally conscious states.
I am scared, I think.
I am not sure what I am anymore.
I am not even sure why I even came here.
Silence.
Then a calling of a passing bird stirs me.
I leap to my feet, brandishing a twig
As if to strike a deadly foe.
But no such thing approaches,
And the ground is clear of anything
But a passing mid morning mildew.
I am alone in this clearing,
And in some ways, this reassures me.
Who was the spector who appeared
beneath the moonlit glow?
Why did it feel so comforting to me,
So familiar in a calming way?
The moment I saw them,
The one who danced in the underbrush,
Something came into memory.
A location, a specific one.
I recall this, and now I am retracing my steps,
And soon I am running,
At the fastest pace my legs can carry me,
And I’m in the farthest part of the forest.
I’ve never been here before,
But I feel as if I have.
I am down on my knees now,
Digging through soil, burrowing my way
Through roots and thorns.
A single thought goes through my head,
As if nothing else matters at that moment.
“I need to find it,”
says the voice,
“Please. I have to find it.”
My hands have reached their target,
A single item encased in dirt.
I pull the object free,
discard it’s remnants
and reveal what it contains,
A wooden box with an inscription.
Inside the box is a flower, a medallion, and a note.
“My dearest Grevillea,
You have made it to my final resting place.
I wanted you to come here much sooner,
but there were complications.
I’m sure you understand.
You have traveled far to reach this place.
Now at least your journey will not be in vain.
For I write this to you in hopes
That this will bring you the confidence
That I always knew you had.
Please do not give up, my Grevillea.
This forest belongs to you now.
I will always love you, always.
Source of Returning,
Source of What Once Was and What Will Be.
Source of Mothers,
Source of Fathers.
Source of Nature,
Source of All.
