1 September 2012
Clouds cover the skies, shedding milky light across the moors. The world shines in golds, reds and yellows, and a light fog hovers just above the springy ground of heather and other tough highland plants. Wrapped up, comfortable and warm, I take my first breath of the refreshing dawn air. Its crisp, free essence awakens something deep inside of me. Something suppressed for so many years, I didnt even know it was there. Something.. primal.
I survey the land before me. The steep ridge making way to a river, its cool, fresh mountain waters teeming with life, before a forest. The trees leaves form a mosaic, breaking through the mist with breathtaking beauty. The deep reds blending with the golds to create a harmonic landscape. I make my way down to the river and see a rabbit. It streaks past me in a blur of white, vanishing after seconds. I stare at the spot it vanished, nothing reveals the rabbits location except the long blades of grass still quivering.
I reach the river and am rewarded with a flash of the royal colours of the kingfisher, expertly plucking an unprepared stickleback from the leisurely flowing water, barely a ripple due to the near non existant wind.
Fortunate enough to have spotted a king fishing I move on, into the woodland, and am instantly stunned into silence by the magnificence of the scene before me. The glorious melodies of the woodland songbirds greet me as I take my first step on the leaf dappled forest floor. And the busy scurrying of a red squirrel catches my eye, gathering nuts for the rapidly approaching winter.
A trumpeting call interupts my thoughts and I look back to see a stag stood proudly atop of the ridge, its body just a silhouette against the morning sky. It is soon accompanied by another and his hareem of females stand at the sidelines to watch. And with a raging cry they charge. The clashes of thier antlers echoing against the trees. Their short bloodless fued was over in less than a minute, with a clear victor to take over dominion and protection of the surrounding females.
Awed, I turn back to the woods and begin to walk. I walk for hours, enjoying the birdsong, watching the squirrels go about their business, even seeing a woodmouse nibbling at a small seed by my foot before it shot back into the undergrowth. This is my world, and I wouldnt change a thi-.
Hang on, I hear something. A faint roaring is coming in the distance, a cracking sound, then alarm calls as the sound of sonething large crushing the bushes reaches my ears. I race towards the noise when the roaring starts up again. I run faster, a cold hand gripping my heart and the pain behind my eyes telling me something is very wrong. I reach the place where the noises were coming from.
A man, dressed up in sone bright hard clothing is weilding some sort of metal weapon. He is using it to kill the trees. It roars as it greedily eats into the trees flesh. I can hardly bear to watch. The tree screeches and falls. I feel it within me as the entire forest collectively silently screeches with grief and rage. The man then calls to others, dressed similarly, and they carry it away to a pile of carcasses of other trees. I fall to my knees. I see a great wall of stone rising above the forest. Its monotonous grey form imitated by countless others stretching into the distance. The land that once was lush field is now no more. Now my forest is next to fall to this evil. There is nobody to save us.
Resignation settles in the forest. Invisible to the workers, who have stopped killing to eat and drink, I sit with the dead and dying trees. I comfort them in their last moments and they are welcomed back into the soil, welcomed back into the flow of life. I alone can grant that in my forest, to those who deserve, but I am fading. My world of colours is being replaced by the industrial grey. The forest is dying, and I, the Spirit Of The Woodland, am dying with it.
My World • Opuss № I