The Forest

The Soil

He stood in quiet reflection.  The sun, rising at his back through shades of time.  And the snow, pure and unaffected.  It floated over the ground at his feet, hiding small footprints in the distance made from something that wasn't there anymore.  He watched them go in and out of sight until they were almost completely gone from memory.

"This one is never lost," a gentle voice spoke aloud.  He looked around, searching for someone hidden amongst the beautiful views surrounding him, each with their own season of promise.  

Her tone was simple, inflecting a subtle resilience built through wisdom of age.  It thrived on stillness, then chimed in as a witness of encouragement.  He could barely feel his own presence standing there stalked amongst marks of strangers.  He leaned in a little closer to hear her and began to feel the impact of her voice residing somewhere within him.  He reached down, touching the snow, and meticulously dusted his hand across its surface.  The ridges and valleys of prints rose and fell through the drifts, and in his palm, he captured the rise of innocence.  

And the voice spoke again.   

"Across this field of tiny footprints you've found, lies an orchard of time. Time that has endured the steps it took to make them.  And they are all yours," her voice now growing with strength.

They could both feel the sun's rays beaming down on the foundation of where they stood.  It erased the fine lines of doubt forming on his forehead and uncovered the precious layers of evidence slowly melting into a hand beginning to understand.  The warmth turned snow into flowing streams between them.  Each of them, carved to perfection, formed steep snow banks on each side, standing firm, then caving to their edge.  They curved and wound around them until finally merging together in racing torrents of power gushing over the mountain side and out of sight.  And as the ground beneath rose up its force in the grief of surrendering, only specks of footprints remained, and she was drawn into life.  It didn't take much for Jack to trace the stranger's prints back to someone he knew, knowing his hand now held a secret in time.   

She emerged and blended into form from the dirt at their feet, now drenched in dust.  Entering the air on waves of breath, calmly she offered her hand.  Her expression, a tangible belief.

"Every exit leaves an entry. And every entry leaves an exit. They all remain still until they are taken again," she said.

He took her hand and offered the humility of guilt.  The steps abandoned over the years were now facing him with another chance.  A chance to acknowledge her for the man he would become.

"Confidence reminds us that someone always believed in us Jack.  It isn't boastful or arrogant," she said nodding in truth.  And with all of her belief in him, she scoured the ground for lost prints in dirt he left weakened under the snow.  Gathering them together, she built a towering centerpiece of soil in front of him to admire.  It was glorious and euphoric.  Uneven and unfair.  Powerful and threatening.  Gracious and accepting.  And nothing without one step.   

"Here," she said guiding him to approach, "Step up onto this podium Jack. Maybe you can make it in one giant leap, or maybe it will take you a lot of success and the angst of failure.  But one day, today or tomorrow, I know you can do it."

Her voice chimed again with memories now surfacing inside of him, sending shivers of worth, strength and resilience through his corners of doubt.  He raised one foot off of the ground and carefully placed it onto the podium ledge.  It was strong and deserving; tall and proud, but his foot wavered in its strength.

"I can't reach it," he said, placing it back down to balance.

"But you can reach it Jack. It is right there in front of you."

Jack stared at his feet on the ground not willing to move for a moment.

"Sometimes the step I choose to take is to stand still. And sometimes you need to stand still, just to move forward."

"But how can you ever get anywhere without taking a step?"

"I am standing on the same ground as you Jack," she said.

And as she spoke, his eyes watched the structure begin to change in front of him.  He watched its surface shed part of its form in layers of soil too high to reach.  It became soft and inviting, generous and achievable.  It stood alone for the source of its purpose.  And Jack lifted the other foot up from the ground, placing it on the edge, just to touch a part of her perspective.   

"Know exactly who you are at all times. Have the presence to go where you lead and know when to follow."

Her hand was open again, now holding part of the soil it shed from its top.  She sifted it gently into his hand and said.

"This soil bears the weight of oceans and ice. Seasons and time. Gravity and force. Yet above all of its beauty and elegance, pain and punishment, it never ever loses its strength."