Taekook Oneshots

The Coldest Winter

The forest has always been a sanctuary.

Maybe it's the way the light dapples through the branches, so that no matter the season there's always a pattern that dances on the forest floor in a hypnotic fashion. Maybe it's the gentle song that rustles through the leaves and escapes from the beaks of the birds around me. Maybe it's the smell of damp earth and shrubbery that leaves the taste of some gentle fungus on the tip of my tongue.

At a certain point, those technicalities don't matter. There, in between the trees, I can pretend that there's nothing else around, that nobody else exists, that there is no such thing as work or school or mortal obligations. I can sit on a stump somewhere off the beaten path, and just meditate in a space owned by Mother Nature herself.

I remember the first time I made something happen here. I was drifting in between a state of sleep and wakefulness, in the middle of summer. The clouds had just passed over the sun, and a cool breeze was blowing through the tree trunks. A squirrel darted from one branch to another, clutching what looked like an acorn in its claws, and I watched it without moving my head. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember wondering what it was like to be that small, that agile, that full of energy.

It felt like I was stretching out my consciousness, widening my awareness as easily as if I were opening out my arms. For a moment, I felt strangely disconnected from my body, and my mind began to wander, chasing the path of the squirrel through the forest around me.

Then I jolted back into reality, only to find that I was smaller than before, and my sense of hearing was far more acute than usual. Something wasn't right. I looked around, and felt my ear flicker as if trying to catch something in the distance.

It took me a while to realise that I'd turned into a squirrel, or some type of rodent that was very similar. It took me even longer to figure out how to shift back into my usual self, and to learn that this was just...something I could do.

It didn't make sense, on a fundamental level. It still doesn't, sometimes, but I've learned to roll with it now. I've learned to try and control it. The idea that an ordinary person can change without knowing, into some creature around them, would have seemed impossible to me before. Sometimes, on the days when I can't come out here to unwind, it still seems like something that's completely out of reach. Something I dreamed about once but can never recreate.

But now, I can explore the place I love without disturbing the living things that call it home. I can become a part of the background noise that means so much to me. I can step into a version of reality that I doubt many people ever get a chance to experience.

Today is a colder day. Winter is fast approaching, and I can see the hunger in the eyes of the woodpecker that built its nest too high up this year. I can hear it, in the empty silence that is usually filled by rustling leaves. I can feel it, in the biting wind that's taken over this space, singing in the high branches. And there's something in the air, that could be some strange scent or the paleness of the clouds above, that feels like the first snow is about to fall.

I step away from the beaten path, walking towards my usual tree stump. I don't know why, but that specific spot is special to me. It could be that the shape is the perfect seat. It could be in the perfect position. It could just be familiarity. It doesn't matter how cold or damp it is, or where the sun is in the sky, everything seems to fade away when I sit down and begin to breathe more deeply and let go of the stresses of ordinary life.

Through the branches, though, as I get closer, I can see the silhouette of a person with white hair, sitting cross-legged on the forest floor beside the stump. They look up, and their face breaks into an uncharacteristically warm smile at the sight of me weaving through the trees. "Hello, stranger."