The Forest

Glitter

They fell asleep in darkness, only to wake up and find shadows of branches and twigs from above blanket them with sunshine.  It felt good to rest in a familiar place.  Jack tightly held Jule beside him and wrestled with the morning.  He was still fresh in the memory of a dream worth finishing.  Jule nestled his face between the warmth of his chest and Jack cradled his arm around him as they both fell back asleep.

It felt like pin pricks.  A sensation of reality drifting into a dream that held them captive.  Falling from the sky, was a radiant assembly of tiny specks of glitter, tumbling down in a shimmering rain of courage.  Their reflections, strong in the presence of equal rivals, dominated a once silent air that surrounded them.  They were a collection of mimes and humbled achievements seen through eyes that embraced the beauty of moments.  Together, they shared an uncompromising sky with the grieving loss of defeat and ash of regret.  

Jack was melting into a vision as he lie there sleeping with Jule in the mix of glistening flakes.  They clashed and collided against each other, finding lines that followed a clear path to a safe landing.  One that would help them shine.  The particles tumbled end over end in a race of will, flattening out just long enough to stall and consider the route.  Each brilliant in their ways and rich in shimmers of turquoise, lavender and savory shades of gold.  Some rested in the doubts that lined their bodies in shadow and others covered them in protection from a world that could consume them.  They acted like dances, free and conscious of their worth, unowned and content, but some, completely raw of purpose. Their touch was warm and even as they slept, their value was felt as a presence of necessity.

The branches above were eager and lined with thick sprinkles of glitter resting on their limbs.  They arched and swayed, making a sprawling attempt at capture as they reached out and grew their thirst for more.  Jack, confused in amazement by the display of wonder around him, began to walk through the island of trees meant for his dream.  It was safe.  It was comfortable.  And it was known.

His backyard, a pale comparison to the collection of trees alone in the forest, hosted Elm trees, Oak, and one slender Birch tree; a perfect mix of imagination he would climb each summer night just before sundown.  He'd pause on the lowest branch he first met, giving attention to a view that boasted the intimacy of his world seen outside of his reality.  From here, he could see through the paned window to his room on the backside of the house.  As the warm glow of sun filtered in, it washed in happy memories, all rewarded by the determination and tenacity of a kid who never gave up.  He would watch his dog, Charlie, settle with an angry bed sheet and sigh as he circled himself into a deep sleep.  He'd see hope hanging on a hook and a dirty uniform waiting for another chance; trophies on a shelf whispering and keeping secrets from each other and three walls conspiring to keep him safe.  The branch would hold his attention there until the fourth wall came in to view.  The one he couldn't see from where he sat.  It faced opposite the trophy wall, painted with chalk-lined words that spilled out the insides of a nine year old boy.  It was through the reflection of a small mirror on his dresser he could see, how the words he was writing, were beginning to shape the perspective of his world.  He read what he could, and remembered the rest, still determined to carry the words of unspoken chalk as he set off climbing even higher. 

Weathered bark, grooved with years of interest, touched the delicate hands of a kid as he climbed.  He knew the route, but he would occasionally deviate and select a slightly different way to his favorite spot.  Usually it meant trembling over a risk that would gently oblige him.  His focus was strong and his drive was a dependable mix of comfort and caution.  When he got there, he positioned himself with his back to the trunk, straddling his legs across a sturdy branch and holding on to another with one arm and a hint of confidence.  He'd sit with his feet resting on an awkward, unstable limb and breathe in the fading sounds of dusk.

The ground, now encouraging the evening's prowl, began to stir in a mix of wild breeds that would all scramble when he climbed back down to the yard.  He could see them casually emerging into a team that liked the company of difference and safety of a pack.  The unusual regulars included a small fox and a coyote, sometimes a doe or buck and a few interesting small animals that hid in shrub only to rummage out when it was clear.  It was rare to see them all together but on occasion they would lure in with a new crop of berries or grapes on the vine.

From here, the house looked small, his window, quiet, but the mountains behind him were the envy of a small mind.  And the higher he climbed, the more they showed him.  He'd usually make one last attempt to test a fear and climb up higher onto another spot of timber that held even more dreams.  As the branches narrowed with height, fragile offshoots became the handholds of security and a sensible place for him to stop.  The night sky, with its specks of glamour, protected him with clusters of brilliant stars, each parading their shine on him and the branches that held him safe.

And from above, he watched a boy sleeping under a tree, waiting patiently to finish a dream.