A Story Situated in Real Time
The creatures living in the forest did not require a map to find their way there. They followed the path that led them through the undergrowth, over twisted roots and shiny flint laid out like a secret code. They didn’t need to unlock doors or pay for parking. Life was free here and they were welcome. The branches of the fir trees bowed their heads as the deer quietly and majestically passed by. The butterflies led the way, dipping and diving, kissing them with their wings. They had come to a place of peace.
In autumn the forest flowers have laid their heads down and quietly retreated, but they lie unperturbed, knowing they will bloom again in the spring. The beech leaves fall, whispering in the wind, sometimes captured by a passer-by, and put in their pocket for luck.
The creatures of the forest know the secrets of the world. They know the clouds don’t just float above the trees, but hold the secrets of the night and wrap their arms around the moon and carry stars in their pockets. All is clear without the need for instructions or rules. There is a knowing and an acceptance for what is. The nightingale comes, and fills the night with a beautiful song, stretching its feathers like sheet music. It sings because the world is listening.
If you just pass by the forest, look towards the waving trees. ‘Here we are’ they say, ‘steady as you like’ as their arms reach up to the sun.
Notes From Dove Lane 