I have realized that the forest is not an enchanting place to be on the dreaded full moon. No good can come from a meadow man stumbling upon the feared forest on the creepiest time of the month. The leaves, the dead autumn leaves crunch nervously under my quiet slippers, each step growing louder and more apparent. The moon here is dark, dreary, saddening. No light bounces off of the silky smooth leaves hanging on for dear life to the tree branches they call home, each one losing the will to survive with each passing day. Jumping back, I stumbled upon the frightening hoots of the owls, darker than night, circling the dying trees towering overhead. No squirrels, nor chipmunks scuttled, their fluffy tails following behind as their arms overflowed with acorns to be stored for the winter months.
?In the meadow, it is light. Glimmering on the billions of newly fallen raindrops from the morning showers are the rays of sunshine peering out amidst the land. Children giggle endlessly, telling stories as they frolic through the open fields, following the early morning blue skies where they lead. The grass, green as grass can be, towers over the gentle ladybugs journeying across the soft dirt in search of their sunrise meal. Bees glide from tulip to daisy to rose, pollinating their way through the daylight. One can only imagine the splendor of the songs the robins sing, soaring home to feed their young. My home, oh the loveliest of homes, rests just past the flowing river, home to the flickering rainbow fish. The path to my little log cabin is lined with dandelions, and the aroma once inside is freshly baked bread and homemade treats for the young’uns who deliver newly picked wheat from the farms each day. My perfect home. All I can picture is my perfect home and my perfect life.
Oh how I wish I were there.
?Instead, I am here. The further in I venture, the quicker the darkness creeps up behind me. The sooner it crept, the sooner I felt the nerve-racking emotion setting in as I dashed between broken branches and fallen trees blocking the path. The only thought now resting within me was whether or not I would survive whatever beastly creature trailed me so near.
Then I saw it. The light, the bright, gleaming meadow sunlight I so longed for. So close, so close I could practically feel my feet lifting me off the horrid ground below. I closed my eyes and imagined that this is what it must be like to soar like the birds back home. Magical. All powerful and magical I felt as I slowly reopened my eyes to a white realm, one that I did not recognize. Little girls in silver silk dresses were carried overhead by wings as enchanting as a butterfly’s, arm in arm with little boys wearing what looked to be silver robes. Young women just slightly taller and slimmer than the little’uns floated gracefully along the shining pathways with gold rings atop their heads. So delicate were the gowns they wore, covered by gold sparkles alone. Shiny brunette ringlets bounced along their bare shoulders as they carried bouquets of bright red roses towards the men who waited for them across the way. Strapping gentlemen stood tall and strong, larger than life wings as golden as the sun, stretched out around their bodies. Pearly white teeth shone across their mouths in a crescent smile. Their hair was short, yet it flowed just below the gold crowns upon their heads. The young women curtsied at the men, holding their heads up so eyes would meet eyes when the men bowed down in response. Once they had risen back up, their hands interlaced, and the roses encircled the couple. The moment their fingers met, blinding white lights burst out above them, raising them up. When they landed moments later, no longer did they sport gowns and robes of gold, but gowns and robes of shining white lace, rimmed with silver. The boys they had grown up with, from the observations of the little’uns, were now forever bound to the girls they had cared for.
Not only was this land unfamiliar, but so was what I supposed to be a miraculous marriage ceremony that had just taken place. Where could I be? Surely this wasn’t the meadow. And it surely was not the forest.
Startled, I turned to find a lean hand upon my arm. There was a tall man standing by my side. His face was wrinkled, and his hair was cream colored. He opened his fragile lips, and whispered out the words:
“Welcome, Bazil, to your new home.”