The Forest of the Mind Denia Carlton “You want in? To my mind? Right this way…” I put my hand at one end of the bridge and the roots begin to grow. They grasp the railings, and the vines of red leaves unite to create a canopy. The metal screams as the earthly fingers twist and strain.The concrete cracks and crumbles as the green spreads across the pseudo rocky surface to become a mess of vines and moss twisting the once clear path into a hazard of missteps and ankle twists. The light fades as the path continues until the end is no longer in sight and the bridge to the depths is complete. Walking down the path with leaves of ivy brushing against exposed flesh and clothes alike.Walking briskly, yet cautiously, less the roots grasp at my feet and refuse to retreat. It’s almost as if they are trying to protect me. I’m going to regret this, I know it. I’ve known this since my first step, but I must. Sometimes there is only one clear way to go. A single path available to reach an end. Where is the end? This path of natural greens and browns goes on for eternity. I walk until my feet bleed and still I have not reached it. Frustrated, I want to turn, or even look back, but I’ve come too far to quit now. I won’t quit; I will rest. I sit. Where I find myself I also find bandages and a fresh pair of socks in the tangled mess where it hurts my back the least to sit. I snack on some muscadines growing just above my head. I feel better once I’ve rested and I get up, still sore but ready to continue. Looking up, I find that the end of the tunnel is just up ahead. Why couldn’t I see it before? At the end of the path is a door.Wood; oak. Handle; brass. Exactly as large and looming as a door would be after such a path, and yet somehow different. I raise my hand to open it and fear strikes. My heart is pounding, why? What’s behind this door? Should I knock? I try to listen through it but the sound of
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