| The Song |
| by Shaun Ryan |
The woods beckoned and Andrew heeded
their quiet summons. His breath plumed in
the air as he made his way along familiar
paths toward the towering trees that
dominated the landscape for miles around.
The ancient hardwoods stood aloof, casting
shadows over the surrounding fields, their
proud silhouettes a stark contrast to the
crystalline blue November sky. They
leaned inward slightly, not quite brooding,
but guarding their secrets from the world
of men nonetheless. Those secrets were
many, but the greatest mystery of all was
the girl.
their quiet summons. His breath plumed in
the air as he made his way along familiar
paths toward the towering trees that
dominated the landscape for miles around.
The ancient hardwoods stood aloof, casting
shadows over the surrounding fields, their
proud silhouettes a stark contrast to the
crystalline blue November sky. They
leaned inward slightly, not quite brooding,
but guarding their secrets from the world
of men nonetheless. Those secrets were
many, but the greatest mystery of all was
the girl.
Sometimes creativity flows like a
waterfall into the most unexpected
places. I, Sophia, know this more
than any. Let Liquid Imagination
flow into the wooded, secretive
places of your mind, as Shaun
Ryan takes us into the heart of
Nature Herself.
waterfall into the most unexpected
places. I, Sophia, know this more
than any. Let Liquid Imagination
flow into the wooded, secretive
places of your mind, as Shaun
Ryan takes us into the heart of
Nature Herself.
He had always known there was
something special about the six
hundred or so acres of woods that
occupied a hilly square mile at
the center of the Raisbeck family
farm. The trees were taller there
than in the surrounding country,
as if they had been spared the
axes and saws wielded by the
generations of loggers and
farmers who had settled the land.
A hushed anticipation lingered
among them, as well as a sense
of timeless wisdom. Though
unsettling to some, Andrew found
the feeling comforting. He had
always gotten the impression that
the great oaks and maples and
elms waited patiently for
something. Or someone.
Perhaps they were, he thought,
as he made his way among the
venerable giants, though what or
who it might be he could not
guess. He knew only that when
he came here, the cares of his
twelve-year-old world vanished,
replaced by a soothing calm.
something special about the six
hundred or so acres of woods that
occupied a hilly square mile at
the center of the Raisbeck family
farm. The trees were taller there
than in the surrounding country,
as if they had been spared the
axes and saws wielded by the
generations of loggers and
farmers who had settled the land.
A hushed anticipation lingered
among them, as well as a sense
of timeless wisdom. Though
unsettling to some, Andrew found
the feeling comforting. He had
always gotten the impression that
the great oaks and maples and
elms waited patiently for
something. Or someone.
Perhaps they were, he thought,
as he made his way among the
venerable giants, though what or
who it might be he could not
guess. He knew only that when
he came here, the cares of his
twelve-year-old world vanished,
replaced by a soothing calm.
Thoughts of school, chores, and whether or not his uncle Wayne knew that it was
he who had broken the basement window last year, instantly evaporated. The first
time Andrew had set foot in the woods was in the company of his uncle. The soft
spoken farmer who had always radiated a solemn, quiet strength had stooped
slightly, as though laboring beneath a burden of sorrow. He led his nephew along
the silent paths to the foot of an enormous oak tree. There he had gently taken
Andrew's hand and placed it upon the gnarled trunk, stepping back as his nephew
gazed into the canopy in wonder, nodding as the lifelong bond was formed.
Though Andrew recalled only vague impressions of that day, the majesty of the
place had indelibly marked him. He began coming on a regular basis when he was
eight, sometimes in the company of one of his three cousins, more often by
himself. He alone appreciated the solitude the groves of ancient trees offered.
Something about the woods called to him, even after he returned home for the
school year. Not a day passed that he did not find himself gazing out the window
and sighing, lost in the memory of this special place and the adventures he
enjoyed here. But although he loved the trees and the trails and the wildlife, he
had to admit that the biggest attraction was the girl.
he who had broken the basement window last year, instantly evaporated. The first
time Andrew had set foot in the woods was in the company of his uncle. The soft
spoken farmer who had always radiated a solemn, quiet strength had stooped
slightly, as though laboring beneath a burden of sorrow. He led his nephew along
the silent paths to the foot of an enormous oak tree. There he had gently taken
Andrew's hand and placed it upon the gnarled trunk, stepping back as his nephew
gazed into the canopy in wonder, nodding as the lifelong bond was formed.
Though Andrew recalled only vague impressions of that day, the majesty of the
place had indelibly marked him. He began coming on a regular basis when he was
eight, sometimes in the company of one of his three cousins, more often by
himself. He alone appreciated the solitude the groves of ancient trees offered.
Something about the woods called to him, even after he returned home for the
school year. Not a day passed that he did not find himself gazing out the window
and sighing, lost in the memory of this special place and the adventures he
enjoyed here. But although he loved the trees and the trails and the wildlife, he
had to admit that the biggest attraction was the girl.
The girl was a mystery, one that haunted
him always. He had glimpsed her only
once, on a sunny June day years before,
a day on which the death of one of his
aunts from cancer burdened him with
sadness. That day had marked the end of
part of his childhood, the first unwilling
steps into the world of adults, with its
pain and grief and toil.
He had stood weeping beneath the
boughs of a massive old oak whose
gnarled and fissured trunk half a dozen
men could not have encircled with their
linked arms. The magnificent tree stood
at the very heart of the woods, towering
over its brethren, its enormous branches
shading what must be acres. Though he
did not know it, his uncle had led him to
this very tree years before. Andrew
stirred from his miserable reverie as
him always. He had glimpsed her only
once, on a sunny June day years before,
a day on which the death of one of his
aunts from cancer burdened him with
sadness. That day had marked the end of
part of his childhood, the first unwilling
steps into the world of adults, with its
pain and grief and toil.
He had stood weeping beneath the
boughs of a massive old oak whose
gnarled and fissured trunk half a dozen
men could not have encircled with their
linked arms. The magnificent tree stood
at the very heart of the woods, towering
over its brethren, its enormous branches
shading what must be acres. Though he
did not know it, his uncle had led him to
this very tree years before. Andrew
stirred from his miserable reverie as
tinkling laughter emanated incongruously from above. He lifted his head just in
time to see the girl flitting from one great limb to the next, her laughter drifting
earthward like cottonwood down. The momentary sight of her had ensured that he
would always return.
By doing so, he had discovered the secret lives of the woods and the creatures that
called them home, watching raptly as squirrels and cottontails gamboled among
the branches and boles, flitting about their daily activities without a care for the
human world. He witnessed the birth of bluebirds and cardinals and finches,
watched as they were nurtured to maturity by their parents, marveled at their first
tentative flights. The deer that bedded in the thickets and brambles were known to
him, paying him no mind unless he startled them. When that happened, they
would bound off through the trees with rapid flicks of their white tails, disappearing
so quickly that he had to check for their tracks in the duff to make sure they were
real and not phantoms. A badger called the woods home, as well. Andrew had seen
him many times as he lumbered to and fro, snuffling and digging and rooting for
rodents and insects. Stories without end played out here and he hungered always
for more.
time to see the girl flitting from one great limb to the next, her laughter drifting
earthward like cottonwood down. The momentary sight of her had ensured that he
would always return.
By doing so, he had discovered the secret lives of the woods and the creatures that
called them home, watching raptly as squirrels and cottontails gamboled among
the branches and boles, flitting about their daily activities without a care for the
human world. He witnessed the birth of bluebirds and cardinals and finches,
watched as they were nurtured to maturity by their parents, marveled at their first
tentative flights. The deer that bedded in the thickets and brambles were known to
him, paying him no mind unless he startled them. When that happened, they
would bound off through the trees with rapid flicks of their white tails, disappearing
so quickly that he had to check for their tracks in the duff to make sure they were
real and not phantoms. A badger called the woods home, as well. Andrew had seen
him many times as he lumbered to and fro, snuffling and digging and rooting for
rodents and insects. Stories without end played out here and he hungered always
for more.
Year after year, Andrew had
gradually become aware of the
intricate symphony of the
woods. They spoke to him, not
in words, for the voices of men
were coarse and lacked the
ability to properly convey the
message, but in the whisper of
the wind through the branches,
the twitter of the chickadee, the
drumming of grouse, and the
yipping chorus of coyotes. He
especially loved coming here
when he visited the farm in the
gradually become aware of the
intricate symphony of the
woods. They spoke to him, not
in words, for the voices of men
were coarse and lacked the
ability to properly convey the
message, but in the whisper of
the wind through the branches,
the twitter of the chickadee, the
drumming of grouse, and the
yipping chorus of coyotes. He
especially loved coming here
when he visited the farm in the
winter, for it was then that the secret world he had discovered offered the greatest
insights into itself. Every new snow offered a blank canvas upon which the denizens
of the woods would paint their lives for him to read. He read them with relish, but
always teasing the back of his mind was the girl. He craved her story most of all.
insights into itself. Every new snow offered a blank canvas upon which the denizens
of the woods would paint their lives for him to read. He read them with relish, but
always teasing the back of his mind was the girl. He craved her story most of all.
On this day, while his family ate and drank and
watched football, Andrew followed the tracks of a
hare as it wound to and fro beneath the bare
canopy of the slumbering hardwoods, trying vainly
to puzzle out the aimless meanderings of an
itinerary known only to the hare and God. His only
companion was a puff of breeze that occasionally
rattled the branches overhead.
He doggedly followed the trail to where it ended in
watched football, Andrew followed the tracks of a
hare as it wound to and fro beneath the bare
canopy of the slumbering hardwoods, trying vainly
to puzzle out the aimless meanderings of an
itinerary known only to the hare and God. His only
companion was a puff of breeze that occasionally
rattled the branches overhead.
He doggedly followed the trail to where it ended in
the frozen marsh near the eastern boundary of the woods. Trudging across the
open ground which, in warmer months, would have been too sodden and
overgrown with cattails and reeds to easily traverse, Andrew discovered the tale of
an age old struggle printed upon the crystalline down that blanketed the land. He
marveled.
open ground which, in warmer months, would have been too sodden and
overgrown with cattails and reeds to easily traverse, Andrew discovered the tale of
an age old struggle printed upon the crystalline down that blanketed the land. He
marveled.
There, not far from the dead hulk of a
once proud pine, the faint marks of
primary feathers dimpled the snow in
mute testament to the battle that had
taken place. Andrew could visualize the
powerful stroke of wings as some
feathered hunter secured its own
holiday meal. The thrashings of the hare
were also plain to see, its vain attempts
to escape blurring the trail it had made
through the woods and ultimately
marking its end. Spots of blood speckled
the snow with crimson, speaking of the
raptor's success. Of the bird there was
no sign but a few downy feathers from
its proud breast, lost in the age old
struggle for life.
He lifted his face to the depthless sky,
struck by a sadness tempered by fierce
pride for the hawk he knew called the
marsh home. He felt sorrow that the
once proud pine, the faint marks of
primary feathers dimpled the snow in
mute testament to the battle that had
taken place. Andrew could visualize the
powerful stroke of wings as some
feathered hunter secured its own
holiday meal. The thrashings of the hare
were also plain to see, its vain attempts
to escape blurring the trail it had made
through the woods and ultimately
marking its end. Spots of blood speckled
the snow with crimson, speaking of the
raptor's success. Of the bird there was
no sign but a few downy feathers from
its proud breast, lost in the age old
struggle for life.
He lifted his face to the depthless sky,
struck by a sadness tempered by fierce
pride for the hawk he knew called the
marsh home. He felt sorrow that the
hare's innocent ramblings had come to an end, sacrificed that another might live.
But he also felt joy that, for this day at least, its gift of flesh and blood would
sustain another generation of proud hunters.
From somewhere off to the west, the staccato hammering of a woodpecker echoed
through the woods. He smiled, tilting his head to the side so as not to miss a single
note of the eternal song whose discordant melodies merged into a single,
triumphant chorus, conducted by a divine hand. He turned toward the sound, the
breeze carrying with it a wisp of wood smoke that tickled his nose. Starting
forward with an eye on the snow covered earth, ever vigilant for another trail to
follow, another story that would unfold before his eyes, Andrew thought again
about the girl. For some reason he could not quite define, some fleeting bit of
precognition, he thought that he might see her again.
She was beautiful, the girl. Her bronze skin had shone that day, aglow with the
sun's energy. Her hair blended with the fresh new leaves of the oak as though one
with them. Her bare feet made little slapping sounds as she leapt from branch to
branch, that musical laughter weaving in and out of the song, completing it
somehow. Her lithe figure had been both concealed and accentuated by a short
tunic that perfectly matched the subtle shadings of the bark surrounding her,
appeared in fact, to be made of the bark itself. That glimpse of her years ago had
lasted for what felt like centuries. Then she was gone, as though she had never
been, as if the tree itself had swallowed her up.
How he was able to remember all of this from the seconds in which she had filled
his vision like a dream, Andrew did not know. But he had no doubt that she was
real, that he had seen her there in the oak. He had never spoken of her to anyone.
Amazingly, his grief had lessened after seeing the girl. He had still mourned his
aunt of course, but it was as if he somehow understood that she wasn't really
gone. The music of the girl's laughter had reached into his soul, soothing him. He
had longed to hear that laughter again ever since. It spoke of something ancient
and beautiful, something lost to the world of men.
Andrew did not understand these things in such terms, he only felt them in his soul,
knew that they were true without consciously thinking about them. The knowledge
was like a tide tugging at the core of his being.
He wandered now through the winter woods, at peace with his surroundings,
searching for another glimpse into this secret world, some new sign or trail which
might lead him closer to the heart of things. The breeze puffed wisps of snow from
the ground, twirling it between mischievous fingers before laying it to rest once
more. It sighed through a stand of white pines whose majestic limbs spread across
the sky in defiance of gravity, reaching always for the heavens in their quiet way.
The melancholy whisper of those soft notes added themselves to the song.
Andrew continued on, stopping here and there to listen. He heard only his own
breath, keeping time with the subtle wind. He struck the trail of a marten, its large
tracks unmistakable. Occasionally, its bushy tail had dragged in the snow as it
slunk through the trees, hunting for prey. He followed and the trail eventually
disappeared into a burrow at the foot of an oak tree. Heaving a small sigh, Andrew
lifted his gaze and discovered that his wanderings had brought him to the very spot
where he had seen the girl. The tree he stood beneath was the tree, mighty even
now, though stripped of foliage and dormant, awaiting the coming of spring with
solemn patience.
The breeze died away, leaving a calm silence to settle over the woods. Andrew
stared for a long time into the maze of bare branches, searching. Finally, as he
was turning to leave, the delightful sound of feminine laughter tinkled in his ears
like tiny bells. He blinked and she was there, different now and yet unchanged. Her
golden skin was paler than before, her hair the muted brown of the few remaining
leaves that still clung tenaciously to the branches of the oak. She smiled down at
him, her laughter lifting his spirits, its tone intimating the coming of spring while
also celebrating winter's long slumber. He could smell her as well. Some
unidentifiable spice that teased his senses seeped from her, reminding him of chill
winter days spent in his mother's kitchen, his rapt gaze locked upon some
tantalizing dessert as it was prepared. He realized now that she was no girl. Full
breasts and generous hips strained the supple fabric of her tunic, belying her
childlike beauty. But her fullness was somehow different that that of other women
Andrew knew. She wasn't like his mother or aunt or the teachers at school. She
was different, wild and free, untamed in the way that the tallest mountains and
deepest oceans were untamed. Though she oozed sensuality, she also exuded
innocence. There was something about her that matched the timeless wisdom of
the tree in which she stood.
But he also felt joy that, for this day at least, its gift of flesh and blood would
sustain another generation of proud hunters.
From somewhere off to the west, the staccato hammering of a woodpecker echoed
through the woods. He smiled, tilting his head to the side so as not to miss a single
note of the eternal song whose discordant melodies merged into a single,
triumphant chorus, conducted by a divine hand. He turned toward the sound, the
breeze carrying with it a wisp of wood smoke that tickled his nose. Starting
forward with an eye on the snow covered earth, ever vigilant for another trail to
follow, another story that would unfold before his eyes, Andrew thought again
about the girl. For some reason he could not quite define, some fleeting bit of
precognition, he thought that he might see her again.
She was beautiful, the girl. Her bronze skin had shone that day, aglow with the
sun's energy. Her hair blended with the fresh new leaves of the oak as though one
with them. Her bare feet made little slapping sounds as she leapt from branch to
branch, that musical laughter weaving in and out of the song, completing it
somehow. Her lithe figure had been both concealed and accentuated by a short
tunic that perfectly matched the subtle shadings of the bark surrounding her,
appeared in fact, to be made of the bark itself. That glimpse of her years ago had
lasted for what felt like centuries. Then she was gone, as though she had never
been, as if the tree itself had swallowed her up.
How he was able to remember all of this from the seconds in which she had filled
his vision like a dream, Andrew did not know. But he had no doubt that she was
real, that he had seen her there in the oak. He had never spoken of her to anyone.
Amazingly, his grief had lessened after seeing the girl. He had still mourned his
aunt of course, but it was as if he somehow understood that she wasn't really
gone. The music of the girl's laughter had reached into his soul, soothing him. He
had longed to hear that laughter again ever since. It spoke of something ancient
and beautiful, something lost to the world of men.
Andrew did not understand these things in such terms, he only felt them in his soul,
knew that they were true without consciously thinking about them. The knowledge
was like a tide tugging at the core of his being.
He wandered now through the winter woods, at peace with his surroundings,
searching for another glimpse into this secret world, some new sign or trail which
might lead him closer to the heart of things. The breeze puffed wisps of snow from
the ground, twirling it between mischievous fingers before laying it to rest once
more. It sighed through a stand of white pines whose majestic limbs spread across
the sky in defiance of gravity, reaching always for the heavens in their quiet way.
The melancholy whisper of those soft notes added themselves to the song.
Andrew continued on, stopping here and there to listen. He heard only his own
breath, keeping time with the subtle wind. He struck the trail of a marten, its large
tracks unmistakable. Occasionally, its bushy tail had dragged in the snow as it
slunk through the trees, hunting for prey. He followed and the trail eventually
disappeared into a burrow at the foot of an oak tree. Heaving a small sigh, Andrew
lifted his gaze and discovered that his wanderings had brought him to the very spot
where he had seen the girl. The tree he stood beneath was the tree, mighty even
now, though stripped of foliage and dormant, awaiting the coming of spring with
solemn patience.
The breeze died away, leaving a calm silence to settle over the woods. Andrew
stared for a long time into the maze of bare branches, searching. Finally, as he
was turning to leave, the delightful sound of feminine laughter tinkled in his ears
like tiny bells. He blinked and she was there, different now and yet unchanged. Her
golden skin was paler than before, her hair the muted brown of the few remaining
leaves that still clung tenaciously to the branches of the oak. She smiled down at
him, her laughter lifting his spirits, its tone intimating the coming of spring while
also celebrating winter's long slumber. He could smell her as well. Some
unidentifiable spice that teased his senses seeped from her, reminding him of chill
winter days spent in his mother's kitchen, his rapt gaze locked upon some
tantalizing dessert as it was prepared. He realized now that she was no girl. Full
breasts and generous hips strained the supple fabric of her tunic, belying her
childlike beauty. But her fullness was somehow different that that of other women
Andrew knew. She wasn't like his mother or aunt or the teachers at school. She
was different, wild and free, untamed in the way that the tallest mountains and
deepest oceans were untamed. Though she oozed sensuality, she also exuded
innocence. There was something about her that matched the timeless wisdom of
the tree in which she stood.
Her eyes locked on his and
Andrew gasped. The mightiest of
men might lose themselves in
that emerald gaze. For a boy of
twelve, they were like twin
whirlpools that sucked at his
soul, threatening to devour it.
Then she smiled once more and
the energy behind her striking
eyes softened and they filled
with what could only be
described as tenderness. He
gaped at her as she leapt nimbly
to the frozen ground to stand
before him. He saw that she was
barefoot as before, the snow and
cold apparently causing her no
discomfort. He thought of his
own clumsy feet, encased in
thickly insulated boots to ward
off the wet cold, and blushed
furiously.
Her laughter drifted through the
woods and a barely perceptible
shudder emanated in every
direction from the point at which
her flesh contacted the earth.
The woods around him shivered
with apparent pleasure, the way
his dog Scooter did when he
came home from school and
greeted his furry friend. She
approached him, tentatively at
Andrew gasped. The mightiest of
men might lose themselves in
that emerald gaze. For a boy of
twelve, they were like twin
whirlpools that sucked at his
soul, threatening to devour it.
Then she smiled once more and
the energy behind her striking
eyes softened and they filled
with what could only be
described as tenderness. He
gaped at her as she leapt nimbly
to the frozen ground to stand
before him. He saw that she was
barefoot as before, the snow and
cold apparently causing her no
discomfort. He thought of his
own clumsy feet, encased in
thickly insulated boots to ward
off the wet cold, and blushed
furiously.
Her laughter drifted through the
woods and a barely perceptible
shudder emanated in every
direction from the point at which
her flesh contacted the earth.
The woods around him shivered
with apparent pleasure, the way
his dog Scooter did when he
came home from school and
greeted his furry friend. She
approached him, tentatively at
first, but gradually emboldened by his unthreatening demeanor. Only inches from
him now, she stopped and stared into him, seeing only she knew what. His head
spun as her spicy scent engulfed him. He was taller than she, his gangly frame
rushing toward manhood ahead of schedule. He smiled down at her, gaze
unflinching. The wonder in her eyes reflected his own. Something more lurked
there as well, something Andrew could not define.
She touched him then, gently placing a hand above his heart.
Images whirled through his head, confusing at first, but gradually resolving into a
wordless question.
Are you He?
Andrew did not understand at first. It was only after she had repeated the process,
accompanying the question with a wave of her arm that encompassed all the land
around them, that comprehension dawned.
He started to speak, but thought better of it. The guttural rasping of human speech
was so out of place here, so…alien. He strove to convey his answer with images as
she had, showing her his uncle, his aunt, his cousins. He dredged up every
memory of them he could recall, sending her images of his uncle mowing hay in
the fields that surrounded the woods, of his family during one of their holiday
celebrations, of himself staring up into the verdant branches of this very oak four
summers past.
She understood and offered a shy smile, though her nose wrinkled in distaste at
the vision of his uncle making hay.
She once more poured images into his head, wondrous visions of an unspoiled,
primordial world. He saw the land for miles around covered in dense forest. She
showed him a handful of mahogany skinned men and women dressed in soft doe
leather as they hunted game and foraged for acorns and hickory nuts. This was
followed by the sight of white men, small bands at first, followed by ever
increasing numbers who gradually denuded the land of trees, clearing it for their
farms with axes and saws. Their lumbering beasts soon populated the bare fields
and the smoke of their burnings darkened the sky.
him now, she stopped and stared into him, seeing only she knew what. His head
spun as her spicy scent engulfed him. He was taller than she, his gangly frame
rushing toward manhood ahead of schedule. He smiled down at her, gaze
unflinching. The wonder in her eyes reflected his own. Something more lurked
there as well, something Andrew could not define.
She touched him then, gently placing a hand above his heart.
Images whirled through his head, confusing at first, but gradually resolving into a
wordless question.
Are you He?
Andrew did not understand at first. It was only after she had repeated the process,
accompanying the question with a wave of her arm that encompassed all the land
around them, that comprehension dawned.
He started to speak, but thought better of it. The guttural rasping of human speech
was so out of place here, so…alien. He strove to convey his answer with images as
she had, showing her his uncle, his aunt, his cousins. He dredged up every
memory of them he could recall, sending her images of his uncle mowing hay in
the fields that surrounded the woods, of his family during one of their holiday
celebrations, of himself staring up into the verdant branches of this very oak four
summers past.
She understood and offered a shy smile, though her nose wrinkled in distaste at
the vision of his uncle making hay.
She once more poured images into his head, wondrous visions of an unspoiled,
primordial world. He saw the land for miles around covered in dense forest. She
showed him a handful of mahogany skinned men and women dressed in soft doe
leather as they hunted game and foraged for acorns and hickory nuts. This was
followed by the sight of white men, small bands at first, followed by ever
increasing numbers who gradually denuded the land of trees, clearing it for their
farms with axes and saws. Their lumbering beasts soon populated the bare fields
and the smoke of their burnings darkened the sky.
Through it all, he saw the oak he now
stood before, witnessed its
metamorphosis from seedling to sapling
to mature tree to venerable giant and
with it he saw the girl. A tiny wisp of a
thing at first, she matured as the tree
grew and prospered. He saw others like
her as well, saw them whither and die
as the great trees with which they
shared an inviolable bond, shared life
itself, were felled one by one over the
long years until only this small haven
remained.
The next vision was of another white
man, tall, raven haired, and regal in his
bearing. Andrew saw him come to the
tree, saw the girl with her hand upon his
chest, saw her smile up at him, eyes
pleading, saw him nod firmly while
stood before, witnessed its
metamorphosis from seedling to sapling
to mature tree to venerable giant and
with it he saw the girl. A tiny wisp of a
thing at first, she matured as the tree
grew and prospered. He saw others like
her as well, saw them whither and die
as the great trees with which they
shared an inviolable bond, shared life
itself, were felled one by one over the
long years until only this small haven
remained.
The next vision was of another white
man, tall, raven haired, and regal in his
bearing. Andrew saw him come to the
tree, saw the girl with her hand upon his
chest, saw her smile up at him, eyes
pleading, saw him nod firmly while
tears streaked down his ruddy cheeks. The man bore a striking resemblance to
both his mother and uncle, to Andrew himself.
He understood now why this wood was so different than any other he had
encountered in his short life, why it occupied such a special place in his heart. It
was special, the last vestige of an ancient time when creatures he had never even
dreamt of roamed the land. This place had roots that reached to the very
foundations of the earth, to the wellspring of time itself.
Andrew stared at her in awe as she withdrew her hand, his own face wet with salty
tears. He had never known anything that had touched him so profoundly. The
depth of her sorrow was immeasurable, beyond human expression, as was her
love for the tree and surrounding woods. This remnant was all that remained of a
once mighty forest that had stretched for thousands of miles.
His special place, the place he had come to seek solace and wonder as his
childhood began to fall away, was unique beyond description. He knew now why
his uncle had never cut a single tree here, why he forbade trespassers with such
firm resolve, why he encouraged Andrew to come here instead of cautioning him
as he cautioned his own sons. He was bound to this ancient wood the way
generations of select Raisbeck men had been bound, the way Andrew was bound.
To harm it was to harm himself.
The sad, beautiful, ancient being he had once mistaken for a girl looked into his
soul and nodded solemnly at what she saw there. She reached for him, her gentle
hands grasping the sides of his head, and pulled his face toward hers. The strength
in those hands belied the softness of her skin. Trembling, he bent in compliance
and she kissed his forehead with lips softer than the finest velvet. His flesh burned
at her touch and a wonderful warmth spread gradually from the point of contact
throughout his entire body, filling him with vitality, as though he had just wakened
from the most restful sleep and eaten a hearty breakfast of the most virtuous
foods. Andrew had never experienced anything like it. He felt superhuman and
perhaps for that moment he was.
Then she withdrew her lips and stepped back from him, her emerald gaze never
leaving his face. He gaped in wonder, completely dumbfounded. She smiled and
broke into that wonderful laughter as she spun and raced up the trunk of the oak,
disappearing just as she had the first time he had seen her.
Andrew stared into the branches for a long time, the visions she had shown him
replaying in his mind. He once more became aware of his surroundings when the
cry of a distant coyote greeting the coming night echoed through the woods. He
realized that he must have been standing there for hours, mesmerized by what he
had experienced.
The slanting light of the sun as it touched the western horizon shone through the
bare branches of the surrounding trees, illuminating the spot where he stood,
lighting his way home.
As he turned to go, a final vision came to him from the being in the tree. In it, he
was a grown man, standing near the eastern edge of the wood in the gray light of
dawn, his hand raised as though in salute. Then his perspective shifted as the sun
rose directly behind him, bathing the branches of the oak in peach colored light.
The girl stood among the glorious new foliage of spring, her hand raised in answer.
Finally, he saw himself as an old man, leading a young boy to the foot of the oak,
standing back as the bond was forged anew.
You are He.
both his mother and uncle, to Andrew himself.
He understood now why this wood was so different than any other he had
encountered in his short life, why it occupied such a special place in his heart. It
was special, the last vestige of an ancient time when creatures he had never even
dreamt of roamed the land. This place had roots that reached to the very
foundations of the earth, to the wellspring of time itself.
Andrew stared at her in awe as she withdrew her hand, his own face wet with salty
tears. He had never known anything that had touched him so profoundly. The
depth of her sorrow was immeasurable, beyond human expression, as was her
love for the tree and surrounding woods. This remnant was all that remained of a
once mighty forest that had stretched for thousands of miles.
His special place, the place he had come to seek solace and wonder as his
childhood began to fall away, was unique beyond description. He knew now why
his uncle had never cut a single tree here, why he forbade trespassers with such
firm resolve, why he encouraged Andrew to come here instead of cautioning him
as he cautioned his own sons. He was bound to this ancient wood the way
generations of select Raisbeck men had been bound, the way Andrew was bound.
To harm it was to harm himself.
The sad, beautiful, ancient being he had once mistaken for a girl looked into his
soul and nodded solemnly at what she saw there. She reached for him, her gentle
hands grasping the sides of his head, and pulled his face toward hers. The strength
in those hands belied the softness of her skin. Trembling, he bent in compliance
and she kissed his forehead with lips softer than the finest velvet. His flesh burned
at her touch and a wonderful warmth spread gradually from the point of contact
throughout his entire body, filling him with vitality, as though he had just wakened
from the most restful sleep and eaten a hearty breakfast of the most virtuous
foods. Andrew had never experienced anything like it. He felt superhuman and
perhaps for that moment he was.
Then she withdrew her lips and stepped back from him, her emerald gaze never
leaving his face. He gaped in wonder, completely dumbfounded. She smiled and
broke into that wonderful laughter as she spun and raced up the trunk of the oak,
disappearing just as she had the first time he had seen her.
Andrew stared into the branches for a long time, the visions she had shown him
replaying in his mind. He once more became aware of his surroundings when the
cry of a distant coyote greeting the coming night echoed through the woods. He
realized that he must have been standing there for hours, mesmerized by what he
had experienced.
The slanting light of the sun as it touched the western horizon shone through the
bare branches of the surrounding trees, illuminating the spot where he stood,
lighting his way home.
As he turned to go, a final vision came to him from the being in the tree. In it, he
was a grown man, standing near the eastern edge of the wood in the gray light of
dawn, his hand raised as though in salute. Then his perspective shifted as the sun
rose directly behind him, bathing the branches of the oak in peach colored light.
The girl stood among the glorious new foliage of spring, her hand raised in answer.
Finally, he saw himself as an old man, leading a young boy to the foot of the oak,
standing back as the bond was forged anew.
You are He.
Andrew made his way toward his
uncle's rambling farmhouse, where
four generations of his family were
even now giving thanks for the
blessings they shared. He thought of
the merriment, the warm glow of the
fire, the cheery blush on his mother's
cheeks as she helped her
sister-in-law heap platters of food
upon the groaning table. He smelled
the wonderful aromas and heard the
squeal of delighted children and
smiled.
uncle's rambling farmhouse, where
four generations of his family were
even now giving thanks for the
blessings they shared. He thought of
the merriment, the warm glow of the
fire, the cheery blush on his mother's
cheeks as she helped her
sister-in-law heap platters of food
upon the groaning table. He smelled
the wonderful aromas and heard the
squeal of delighted children and
smiled.
Overhead, the hawk voiced its fierce cry as the breeze returned to caress the
dormant land with frigid fingers. The coyote chimed in, followed by another, and
soon a chorus of them greeted the rising moon. An owl hooted from somewhere
deep within the woods as Andrew stepped from beneath the canopy and into the
open.
He paused, looking back to regard his special place with new eyes. His heart
swelled as that delicate laughter rang out for an instant before fading into the
falling night. The light of the full moon painted the land with a silvery brush,
casting dark shadows beneath the trees and causing the snow covered hills to
sparkle.
Turning toward the love and warmth awaiting him, mind and heart swirling with
emotions he could not quite define but that filled him with contentment
nonetheless, Andrew sighed and resumed his walk, lost in the intertwining
melodies of the song.
dormant land with frigid fingers. The coyote chimed in, followed by another, and
soon a chorus of them greeted the rising moon. An owl hooted from somewhere
deep within the woods as Andrew stepped from beneath the canopy and into the
open.
He paused, looking back to regard his special place with new eyes. His heart
swelled as that delicate laughter rang out for an instant before fading into the
falling night. The light of the full moon painted the land with a silvery brush,
casting dark shadows beneath the trees and causing the snow covered hills to
sparkle.
Turning toward the love and warmth awaiting him, mind and heart swirling with
emotions he could not quite define but that filled him with contentment
nonetheless, Andrew sighed and resumed his walk, lost in the intertwining
melodies of the song.
The art of the talented
Jessica Galbreth was used in
this story. The picture to the
right is just a small sample
of her artistic skill. To find
out more about Jessica
Galbreth and her insanely
popular art, read her
interview here. When you're
done, visit her website at
Enchanted Art. You'll be so
glad you did!
Jessica Galbreth was used in
this story. The picture to the
right is just a small sample
of her artistic skill. To find
out more about Jessica
Galbreth and her insanely
popular art, read her
interview here. When you're
done, visit her website at
Enchanted Art. You'll be so
glad you did!
We promote Jessica
Galbreth here at Liquid
Imagination because
she embodies fantasy
elements in her work,
her heart and soul goes
into each fantastic
stroke of her brush, and
she brings to life the
power of myth, the
beauty of the Goddess.
Galbreth here at Liquid
Imagination because
she embodies fantasy
elements in her work,
her heart and soul goes
into each fantastic
stroke of her brush, and
she brings to life the
power of myth, the
beauty of the Goddess.