The water’s chant is distant, but straying ever-closer, calling you to where the rocks give way up ahead. On your shoulders you feel the midday sunlight that drips through a cathedral of foliage the color of embers, plucking star-pointed maple leaves that have grown too tired to hold on. And there is a quiet lullaby that coils around you. With each crackling step that takes you down the path and toward the stream, the song twists and spins lazily ahead of you with the sweet breeze.
The forest is singing itself to sleep. You wonder if you, too, could sleep here, if you only stop to lean against a tree and listen. But there is a thread of water here that has pushed the bones of the Earth apart, and its song is a reminder that this isn’t yet the time to close your eyes.
There is so much more to let go of: mushrooms that will wither, orange-bright berries that will harden if not harvested, and footsteps that will be forgotten. There are nights that grow colder and beg the dripping waters that seep from the rocky cliffs to slow. The snows are a distant dream that the forest will have in time.
Here - where you stand at the edge of the stream, where the quiet bodies of birch leaves repose, hiding the seeking edges of the waters - you hear the two melodies in harmony. The forest prepares itself to pull a blanket of ice and frost over its tired limbs, while the waters rejoice in all of the Autumn-light there is yet to drink.
The story behind the dreamscapes…
Oh my gosh, Raven, this is extraordinary. It brought tears to my eyes and made me put my hand on my heart. You have such a deep and tender gift. Thank you so much for sharing your soul through writing, it is truly amazing. You are inspiring me so much!