I'm eighteen months into the forest, and though I tread the same paths Most days, every step reveals something I overlooked the last time.
This flower has bloomed. This tree has gained another foot. That mushroom's edges have started to curl. The sun's rays hit different parts of the underbrush as the seasons shift and the canopy transforms. Old growths, once seeming immortalized by Time and trial, have now fallen, and new, vibrant green replaces it, filtering the light in new patterns.
The path has Changed. Some parts are too overgrown to pass and other avenues revealed, the trek becoming new with each traversal. The hand I hold is small, the Grip tight, and on the next day, it's larger than mine, it seems, bristling with independence and curiosity. It tugs me ahead some moments and Stalls me the next, drawing my attention downwards to things I would normally overlook: a rock embedded with smoky quartz. Ants hunting for food. The feeling of dirt under my nails and trinkets in my pockets is a reminder of the wonders of the world, if only we dare come close enough to see.
There's a star that has become constant, visible through the canopy. She's there day and night, a constant companion, leading the way with whispers and dreams. I can almost hear her giggles, and they're echoed at my side.
Sometimes, I have to sit - on a log, a stone, on the bare ground, and listen and feel. I let myself soak in the forest, feel its rhythms, the ebbs and flows like the tide at shore. Without these, I fear I would lose myself, would forget to investigate the way the bark cracks on the tree, or how a bumblebee pours all of itself into a flower as it gathers pollen. I would miss the sweet taste of the year's first strawberries, of the way crushed blueberries wash purple first and then blue.
Sometimes I step from the path, pulled by eagerness and giggles, and watch as a stick smacks into a bush, again and again. The sound is new, and the sensation of its resistance against the assault is thrilling. These things are simple and yet, anything but.
The fabric of our universe unravels steadily before us, revealing the composite threads in a kaleidoscope, constantly shifting with possibility. And we take hold of those threads and weave a new story about ourselves, spreading the tapestry onto the stars.
