A tree on the hill
I walk past the rabbits at the bottom of my garden (is it their home or is it their hideout) and head on the path towards the woods.
I float on a cloud along the path as I leave the tranquility of domesticity into the anguish of nature. I reach the tree line and suddenly feel lost. My mind lacks orientation and my feet don’t stop actuating.
The woods head up. Up. Always upwards.
A one antlered deer contemplates me askance; I hear my mother’s pertinent voice at the top of the hill and float onwards. The frequency of the trees increases and I start to sense movement in my periphery. The verdant mush beneath my feet begins to whirl as dark angels surround my breath. I am irrevocable.
A shape, small and furry with triangular ears appears. Then a second. Their round, foliate eyes seem to beg me. I feel myself moving towards them and they begin to amble and to multiply. I am so tired. I sense behind me the cimmerian coppice closing. The eyes of the creatures begin to luminesce. They appear at eye line and around my feet. A mist rolls in. I am urged to follow them. But always upwards. The never ending clambering, as my finger nails grasp at roots and rocks. I know I cannot look behind me. I persevere with my ascent.
Suddenly the labyrinthian tree line begins to crack. An echo of light appears in stripes both horizontal and vertical. As I emerge, I see a lush welcoming floor, surrounding a single tree. I can hear a canopy of sounds, calming and enticing.
My feet move motionless, as if the my surroundings are centrifugal to my existence. As I near the tree, I observe animals sleeping. Plants resting. Flowers reposing.
A cornucopia of convalescence.
I am so tired.
I look for a space to sit, but the earth is covered in movement. I look antrorsely but all I see is a deep midnight blue cascading in every direction.
A sound from the tree begins to resonate. A whispering mantra reverberating around me.
I step closer.
I cannot make out the words clearly, so I lean my head towards the trunk. My foundations are sunk in a cloud of restriction, so I am forced to lean my body closer. My fingers reach out and touch the abrasive bark. I still cannot hear the words from inside the tree. As I lean my ear closer the bark begins to envelope my fingers. When my ear touches the skin, I have lost feeling of my hands. But I am close enough.
I auscultate it.
I run down. Hurtling. I need to get away but I am still at the top. I hurl my body forwards and hope to oscillate back into the safety of the deadly trees. But I am still too high. Every movement forwards takes me nowhere.
I cannot get home.
But then. Do I want to?
You lay down in the ground and sink. As you wait for the water to envelope you. And sleep arrives.
– Joel Ingram
