When the sun finally rose over the crest of the mountain, his eyelids cracked open for a peek of its jagged ridge, sinking just below the edge of shine. Underneath the covers, a boy untangled sheets wrapped tightly between his ankles. His dog Charlie slept beside him, tucked in neatly around the contours and silhouettes of warmth that kept Jack safe. Chance, on the trophy shelf above, held a call of duty, swatting occasionally at the colored ribbons and fringe that hung from the arm of a throw.
A tiny sparrow clung to the tip of a branch, answering his call from another across the field. A wood rat wrestled scraps and keepsakes together in the brush, in the hopes of calling it home. The occasional howl of youth was heard waiting in the distance to be fed. And the last doe would lead her fawn out of the yard and safely back into her woods at sunrise. The morning crew juggled a complicated act each day that left morsels of adventure and obstacles hiding in the most unlikely places. And from far beyond his window, the world opened, while he tossed and turned, still simmering on the quake of a dream.
The rain left a mysterious pattern of words, finally settling in puddles of debris along the spout, dripping down a meticulous cadence of thought, and Jack named every drop a miracle. Trees faded into low clouds and leaves shimmied over trunks. Everything he couldn't see was still there. Everything he couldn't hear still made a sound. Everything that wasn't spoken, still remained. But when everything went quiet again, he finally woke up to the glow from a star that never went to sleep.
The alarm went silent and Jack threw off the covers, racing Charlie to the back door. And there sitting on the doorstep, were his soccer shoes, completely drenched with last night's pour. He picked them up, one-at-a-time, slowly pouring out a steady stream of bad luck while Charlie soaked up a thirst. He sat down next to his dog, watching the clothesline in front of them wave goodbye with the sway of a perfectly good number. It was his jersey. It was over he thought. One chance to seal a victory today completely defeated by nature. Charlie splashed his cheek with a lick, then cuddled down at his feet along side him as Jack glanced around the yard. It was simple and pure. Like a day with no plan. His two fists landed squarely under each side of his jaw in a pout.
They sat quietly next to each other for a while until Charlie tracked the path of a bee to a hive, and a sudden, mysterious mirage of color gathered form and approached them. It began swirling, like a vortex blending air into chaotic melodies of peaks and valleys that hovered just out of reach. Its brilliance rivaled the arcs and slopes of the distant landscape behind it. Hues of turquoise, lilac and gold graced his canopy, then flashed again through the canvas of time. It climbed higher and higher, then stalled to protect a view, steady on the fragile wings that held it secure. And as brushstrokes glazed across the wind in sweeping moments of bravery, it waited for a boy.
Jack's interest was captured by its unrelenting pulse of tenacity as he slowly walked closer and closer to its path. His bare feet sunk into the marsh, with every step feeling the weight of his effort. And now, the world seemed silent to everything but just one moment. He raised up his arm, his palm open and accepting, and waited while it weaved a course around it, stopping to pause just above a touch.
Jack whispered and the air soaked in all the heat from his breath, knowing that what now remained in his reach was the beauty in his words and the raw elegance of surrender. And as the hummingbird gently lifted itself up from his grasp, he followed his flight further and further away until all he could see was a glowing speck of light, deep in the sky above him. Jack raced back toward the house with muddy feet riding on the trill of excitement, stopping quickly to wipe away the dirt. And there, on the edge of the step, sat something he failed to notice before. It was a small collection of rocks that looked like they had once made a mountain. He paused to admire them, each with a unique reason to be there. And then he began sorting through the pile, turning them over, one-by-one, to dust off any sand or grit that dulled their surface. And from every side, and every corner that gave each of them form, they were equally as interesting he thought. All but one. This particular stone was rough and grainy on one side, with clay and mud molding inside of its cracks and crevasses. It resisted his attempts to conform. But the other side, scattered with beautiful flecks of rare metals, shined brilliantly from its surface. It was completely untouched by harm. He watched the angles of sun pierce through it, like a secret trying to hide, only to expose the uncompromising imagination of a boy. He tossed it up, juggling it off the tips of his fingers, before catching it tightly in his palm.
YOU ARE READING
The Forest
FantasíaA little boy finds himself trapped in a dream that leads him through a forest of fear, confusion and uncertainty. Along the way, he meets the weak and flawed mysteries of its hosts who live there. He learns to navigate his way through the forest and...
