My mental warning bells were ringing quite loudly, and I endeavored to
silence them by extreme exertions of the will, but they would not be
subdued. I assumed that they were not at all correct, much like the
fearful expectancy some have while swimming in the ocean, out of sight
of all land, of being attacked by an enormous leviathan of the deep. As
unfounded as the fear is, it places one into a frenzy of dubious
thoughts that inspire equally frantic and anarchist actions. Because of
this, I thought that my ideas were naught but superstitious fancies, yet
try as I might, I could not rid myself of them.
Instead, I made up my mind to set off in the opposite direction, north,
and to advance at a double march until I should reach the woody border,
which looked to present shelter not only from the southern apparitions,
but also from the shielded underworld of the grasses, in which also
dwelt the mysterious sense of fear and predestined deja vu. It was
slightly chilly, but beyond that nothing defaced the temperate beauty of
the day, and even that promised to soon dissipate with the continual
strengthening of the sun's warmth. As I walked, or rather, trotted
along, it did just that, and in the growing warmth of the day the sweet
fragrances of the many various grasses rose to the surface, delighting
my odor perceiving sensors with their earthy simplicity.
The day marched on, and with it I, and the distant wall of trees began
to slowly grow closer. At length, I found myself at their edge, at
around the noon hour, and as I came upon the first of them, I leaned
against the trunk of a large, thickset tree for a moment of repose and
reflection in its shade. It was by all appearances an ancient wood, for
the line between it and the prairie was distinct, appearing as if the
shrubs and lesser flora had acquiesced to fate and retreated beyond the
forest's claimed boundaries, rather than continue for countless ages to
charge and then be pushed back, to gain a foothold only to be thrown out
a year or two later. The trees themselves were mighty pinions of
strength, tall and of great girth, and spread far apart from one
another, leaving wide open spaces between their towering trunks. A
short, soft grass clothed the land that stretched on in their midst,
joined in its solitude by a hearty looking moss that stretched itself
out on the trunks of the trees and on the rocks and boulders that lay
scattered here and there among the open spaces. Far above, the trees'
great branches spread out a thick canopy, covering the whole of the
forest area in a relaxing and invigorating twilight, rendering itself
homely and quaint. After a few moments of enjoying that most pleasing
scene, I roused and extricated myself unwillingly from its enchanted
depths and set off once more into the heart of the woods, having no
where else to go.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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