Silent forest

[vaneramos]

Yesterday at the Arboretum

~~~~~~~~~~~

Voices fill the forest at night. A barred owl hoots from the stand of tall hemlocks atop the granite ridge. A mouse rustles in the leaves. Over the bay, little brown bats circle in their ultrasonic quest for nourishment. Sometimes their squeaks fall below the threshold of hearing. When they fly near enough, their wings sound like canvas shuddering. Light falls and last breaths of wind escape over surrounding hills. The lake is silent as a mirror. Stars slowly spread and propagate across the violet tent of eternity. If you listen carefully with your eyes, you'll hear their song. They utter the cries of giants born at the dawn of creation, but echoing across endless corridors they turn to a murmur like the hum of worms under stones.

The darkness is never louder than in spring when snow and ice flee the sheltered pond and life erupts in a shrill symphony of spring peepers. Along the road nearest the swamp, where a big drain pipe crosses underneath, the noise is deafening.

Sometimes the night forest seems silent. All the storytellers are still there—owl, mouse, bats, frogs, water, stars. But in the imagination they have crossed the boundary to an empty land. Their voices resonate through chambers of memory, the empty windows between tall trees. But one heart alone hears only the dry scrape of death clawing through dry leaf rubble. The moon casts a derisive glare, turning its shoulder beyond the roof of trees. All the paths drain like silent threads out of sight. There are no roads going anywhere. The wilderness becomes endless.

In the silent forest, nothing comes to us but dreams. Through a shimmering portal you have to remember candles set near the open frame of a cottage door. A cat's shadow sits wondering. A child's face presses against the glass, waiting for the approaching tremble of footfall. Beyond these figure lies a pool of lamp glow where stories have been told for thousands of years, and will be told again. Beyond the central room lies a shadowed cave where a lover lies, peeling back the blanket like a curve of skin. A midnight lantern shines back from his dark eyes, reflecting secrets of words spoken, unspoken and half-spoken.

In the silent woods you heed these dreams and set one foot forward on uncertain ground.

Comments

[willowing.livejournal.com]

all of this, words, image, feel, emotion, atmosphere, so so beautiful ... thank you

[vaneramos.livejournal.com]

Thank you. I had the uncomfortable feeling last and again this morning that my world was falling too silent. I was alone in the woods. I had to remind myself.