It was a typically warm summer day, unlike any other, when I was initiated into the Forest of Whisper’s elite society. My inquisitiveness brought me to a small archway of green ivy intertwined with a tangled mess of brown branches, leading me into the forest. As I entered a soft, rustling sound innocently glided through the air and sweetly whispered, "welcome". These gentle waves continued to flow back and forth, to and fro, enticing me to progress deeper into the belly of the forest.
While I walked through the forest my senses seemed to almost become heightened. The sound of the forest began to grow clearer, more distinct; the trickling sound of a nearby stream allowed me to envision the various sizes of rocks that it contained, changing the sound of the water from trickling to gurgling, like scales on a piano. A grumpy woodpecker began its banter, almost shouting for me to leave this place, his place. His instrument grew from a faint "knock, knock, knock" into a louder "crack, crack, crack", it didn't take me long to move along, allowing the fellow adventurist his space amongst the large forest home.
My encounter with the chirping stream and the rowdy woodpecker brought a genuine smile to my face. As a skipped along the forest dance floor, my steps seemed to have more spring in them, more cushion. I paused a moment to inspect the ground beneath me. At first glance I thought of the floor to be nothing other than the usual, dirt, but what I saw interested me. Mixed amongst the soil were the pine needles which were once proudly displayed on their maker, leaves of both the oak and maple trees, and decaying trees who had lived to either reach their prime or were blown down during a strong summer storm. I was merrily skipping upon a graveyard of birch, pine, oak, and maple trees- all that lived and died for the good of the forest. It would be their carcasses that would allow life to continue, as it created rich, damp compost, suitable to feed the soul of the forest.
The richness of the ground beneath varied from a light brown to an almost brownish black, depending upon the level of decomposing and dampness. I bent down to grab a fistful of this "black gold", careful not to take hold of any unwanted visitors. At once, I felt connected to this place, this moment in time; I held its history in my hands. The flaky layers of life contained in my grasp felt cold and dead, far from the life I knew they still held. I gently released the mixture back onto the ground. As I looked closely, a tiny bit of soil moved and with that a small "potato bug" emerged no doubtingly happy to be back on solid ground. I was thankful that the tiny one waited until I relinquished the mixture before he journeyed out from the mass. As the potato bug continued his journey, I too continued mine.
It wasn't long before I noticed that I had journeyed further than anticipated. The sun which had been held high in the sky when my journey first began was beginning its decent into the horizon. Surprisingly, the once dark forest, mostly void from light except for the few patches of sun here and there, began a dance of light and color; the view was beautiful, awesome and awe inspiring. The forest opened up into a clearing, large enough for me to take off on my own private self-discovery. I began to look upon these beams of sunlight as spotlights and the forest floor was my stage. I was instantly overcome with emotion and movement. As I swayed back and forth, the sound of the whispering tress became louder. My swaying led to twirling, around and around until the trunks of the trees became my partners and their limbs delicately leading the dance. The music of the forest surrounded us, branches hitting and rubbing against each other created percussion like rhythm of clapsticks. A bullfrog, which had been hiding near the stream, now proudly showed his baritone voice, croaking with great pride along with the trees. The once grumpy woodpecker swallowed his pride and began rapping onto a hallowed out birch tree, giving structure to this make-shift band. To stand on stage with this band of vagabonds was an honor. If the sound that was made that day was a feeling- it would be the feeling you get when you are pleasantly surprised by someone, if it was a flavor- it would be chocolate ice cream with peanut butter ribbons running through it, if it was a piece of furniture- it would be my favorite old recliner, the one that needed a little extra nudge to recline back, if it was smell- it would be the most fragrant lilac bush, sweet with the freshness of spring. The sound created replenished my soul, and showed me that life is truly good. I twirled in harmony with the kaleidoscope of colors the sun showered upon us, all while I embraced the heart of life.
As I exited the forest that day, I rummaged through my jacket pockets, in search of my car keys, but my feelers came across the smallest of acorns instead, I had unknowingly (or subconsciously) brought a piece of the magic with me. Even though I physically left the forest, I did not purge myself of the secrets which Forest of Whispers entrusted me with; for I hear them in the innocence of a baby’s giggle, I smell them in the sweet fragrance of spring, I feel them in the tenderness of a soft touch and I see them in the beauty that surrounds me. I know the heart of life is good.
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