1 minute read
Morgan Woods
Morgan Woods
A serene veil of light as soft as summer wind obscures me from any sense of not belonging. Nostalgia is not needed; this is my haven. The noble oak protects me, he is my heritage. My mother is tenderly embracing me. Her ethereal dappled net lies above me like a hushed and mystic church. But now I must make my way. This is my Sleeping Beauty wood where daring bands of birds rejoice sounding their ocean-clear songs, each one a fleck of vibrance. I make my way amongst the hazels to where the squat mushrooms, the verdant herbs and all manner of edible roots and flowers can be found. Squirrels are parading among the Hawthorn boughs, chatting. My destination is but an echo away. The soothing aromatic scent of honeysuckle and parsley engulfs me.
I like to collect my thoughts in the woods. They may be noisy but that doesn’t bother me. Usually, I only go for a small walk but as I had a few hours to spare I thought I would go further. I don’t even know why people call them Morgan Woods. They aren’t even woods really- forest more like! Richard told me that they are at least 50 miles in but even I know they aren’t that huge. The Main Road is only 7 miles the other side. Anyway, as I was saying, I thought maybe I would catch up on some exercise and go a few miles in, on the path of course. The only thing is that after a while there is no path. I was panicking now. I couldn’t even tell which way I had come from. “Just walk straight and you’ll have to reach the edge sometime.” I told myself. But that wasn’t as smart as it seemed. Some woods are thick. Really thick. I had tied my red sock to the branch of a tree so that I would know if I was going in circles. I was.
After about 2 hours I just sat by the sock-tree praying for a passing hiker and after about another hour, one came. Now I never go very far in the woods.
