Mitra N

Moments in a forest

The always existent

Babbling of a  brook

 

The rustling of leaves

As the wind runs through them

 

The soft whoosh of wings

As a hawk takes flight

 

The crunch of dead leaves

As I crush them with my feet

 

The quick patter of tiny feet

As a squirrel scurries up a tree

 

Pretty wildflowers

That scent of the air around them

 

The smell of life and greeness

That so defines a forest

 

The damp soil

That my shoe sinks in to

 

The warmth of sunlight

That soothes my cold skin

 

Warm, rough rocks

That beckon my touch

 

Dry, dark soil

Crumbling through my parted fingers

 

Thick humidity after the rain

That sticks to me and everything

 

The rough bark of a tree

As I brush my hand against it

 

The silky smooth coolness of the water

As it numbs my hand

 

Perfect, round pebbles

Tumbling around in the bottom of the stream

 

A doe’s wide brown eye

Before it flees

 

Dappled patches of sun and shade

That filter through the leaves

 


 

The Meadow

When a soft breeze blew over the field, the millions of beautiful wildflowers, every color in the rainbow, swayed in unison, creating the illusion of a wave. The bright blue cloudless sky shined over it, lighting the world up. The entire meadow teemed with life. All manner of insects, from beetles to ants, scurried around on the soil and a dragonfly buzzed overhead. Bees and butterflies perched on the flowers, pollinating them. A wild turkey strolled along the edge of the distant forest and songbirds- robins, starlings, bluebirds, cardinals- chirped as they flew above. Up high, a magnificent hawk circled, closing in on his prey, probably one of the many mice scurrying through the flowers.  A deer poised at the edge of the forest ventured out nervously, ready to flee   A rabbit, only the tips of its ears sticking out of the tall grasses munched on whatever tasty treat it had found. This was a pristine place, untouched by human’s ruinous hands. But its time had come, like everything else on this slowly dying earth. The humans had arrived, coming to build their factory that would belch black smoke, or plant rows of corn and ruin this perfect soil. Here they are, come to build a mall and a highway. Here are the humans, come to destroy.


A Magic Trombone

When it is played, its notes circle the world and make every tree hum, every building rumble, and every animal look up from its work. But only one human paused and looked up. No one else even noticed it. But don’t blame them. How could they know? It looks like a normal trombone. It feels like a normal trombone. In fact, every gold plated part of it is normal- except for one. It sounds very different from a normal trombone. Not different enough for the humans to suspect, but different enough that they recognize it is not normal. So these, dare I say stupid, humans just dismiss it as a problem with the hardware and sell it on eBay because they can’t bring themselves to throw it away- or more accurately the trombone won’t let itself be thrown away. So  this extraordinary trombone just keeps getting passed on and on through generations of human hands. When it comes to you, though, don’t let yourself fall into the same trap. Be on the lookout for it. And when it comes to you, don’t do the same thing as most people. Play a few notes. Keep playing. Let the trombone do the work. Before you know it, you will be playing a little tune. A tune that cannot be mistaken for anything else. The One will hear you, for she is the only human that can hear the trombone’s song in its reality, and when she hears it she will come running to get it. She must. She will come running to claim her power, the power to control the animal world through her notes.

*To be continued. Inspired by an activity where we made an ordinary object magical.


The Yarn

In this story sits a dog in a room. And in another story a jaguar paces a courtyard. And these two separate stories are connected by a piece of yarn. But this is no ordinary piece of yarn, for how could an ordinary piece of yarn connect two animals in two corners of the world, maybe even in two universes? No, dear reader. As you may have already guessed, this is a magic piece of yarn. And this magic piece of yarn is about two inches long, a millimeter thick, fuzzy, and green. So, you see, to any ordinary person this is an ordinary piece of yarn. But you, dear reader are not ordinary. You are different. So you, and only you can find the magic in this yarn.

*To be continued. Inspired by an activity where we used five words picked out of a hat to make a story. Mine were dog, room, jaguar, courtyard, and yarn.

 

 

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