25 September 2012
The forest calls out to me; a cacophony of birdsong, rustling leaves and the constant hum-whistle-howl of the wind snaking its way between tree and branch and undergrowth. I can almost feel it hum beneath my feet, transmitting minute secret messages through the vibrations of each footfall; the movement of every living creature made known to me. It carefully conceals me amongst its great, green plumage, camouflaging me with leaves and shadows until I am inseparable from the very fabric of the forest. I am, after all, it's protector. Tall as a tree, but slim as a willow branch, with wild bark-brown hair and a dress made of fallen leaves, I keep the forest safe. With a whip of thorns in my green fingers I make sure the leaves stay snug and embedded upon the correct trees; I tend the undergrowth, leaving it wild enough to keep out unwanted visitors, but not letting it have a free reign over the forest floor. It would, if left unchecked, ramble and grow until it rendered the forest impassable and started to strangle the trees with long, parasitic tendrils. But I am always there to keep it in line, to prune and chop where necessary. And the animals - they both fear and revere me, as protector, provider and hunter. The lion may be king of the jungle, but I am queen of the forest; often severe, but always just, I mete out punishment and aid in equal measure. I keep the forest, and the forest keeps me.
Queen Of The Forest • Opuss № I