Through Your Eyes

The first thing you'll see is the sky. It's vast and open and that perfect deep shade of blue that seems like you could dive right into it. Next are the clouds, white and lithe and content to just float for a while. Then you'll take in the treetops. You'll be blown away by the exquisite number of shades of green in one place. The interlaced branches grow thicker as you enter the wood, creating a dense latticework, with sunlight fluttering through the gaps like a song, allowing the briefest glimpses of the immortal blue above you.

The trees are ageless; too tall and old to be measured. You can't believe trees like these existed outside the tales of Jack and his Beanstalk. They're trunks are enormous, and gnarled, big enough to lay in comfortably, if hollow. These massive wonders have surged their way to the top, keeping as much sun to themselves as they can, leaving the forest at your feet a clear walkway, with no saplings or shrubbery to trip you.

Ahead is a large patch of sun; a tree has fallen. You can feel the heat of the sun in contrast to the cool confines of the forest. The fallen tree has become a support system for a whole new emergence of life. You can see smaller trees, insects, lichen, moss, and fungi fighting for a chance to replace this mighty sky-dweller. To linger would only reveal more of the world's circle-dance. New from the old, repeat, repeat. Let's leave this place, I crave the sunlight.



Away from the shelter of the trees, the sun is in full force, accompanied by a breeze that slips past you like secret, it cannot be bothered to stop and explain the world today. For now the breeze will satisfy itself with ruffling your hair and billowing your shirt like the sails of a ship. You don't find a ship today, but an old rowboat, grey-blue paint faded and flaking, bobbing contentedly on a large pond, or a small lake, you can't quite tell.



You take the boat out- it floats. Only the bottoms of your feet are greeted by shallow waves of water that's slipped in through the cracks. The sun is drooping, heavy with the weight of a day upon it, and it's giving way to colors that stain the sky like a brilliant canvas. The oceanic blue gives way to traditional hues of indigo and gold, and to surprising violet and unexpected green. In this light halfway between today and tomorrow, you lift yourself over the side of the boat, and release yourself into water that has just begun to cool, and is crisp and clear and reflecting the sky like disjointed pieces of a mirror.

You allow yourself to sink to the bottom, feeling sand soft as silk and smooth pebbles beneath you. You watch the bubbles of air race for the surface, dancing and striving to break through first. The sky and the boat distort through the looking-glass of the water, blurring together like the lines of an old photograph. It would be easy to stay here; the fish don't seem afraid of you, they tickle your toes and leave sounds in your ears. But it's not to be, and you slowly drift upward.

Your wet clothes cling to you as you take the boat toward shore. The sky has released the sun from its grasp, and in its place are thousands of brilliant, tiny lights, each with its own story to tell. A bat swoops past you, capturing his midnight breakfast, and circles back toward the ancient trees.

You walk back to your car, dirt clumping and sticking to your wet feet, the hems of your pants. The air hums and buzzes with nocturnal calls and songs. You see your car ahead, sitting quietly on the side of the old dirt road, a silent observer to your experience. You walk toward it, your shoes dangling limply from one hand, your keys in the other. You put the shoes and keys in the car, both innocently on the driver's seat. You leave the windows down, doors unlocked. And you keep walking, enjoying the stinging sensation of the sharp rocks and the sound of water dripping from your clothes and hair onto the parched road like a second set of footsteps as you continue down the road on that dark, star filled night.