Karpo's Forest

         Everything is dark; a seemingly sempiternal stillness seeps and lurks in the shadows. I open my eyes. Tall, thick, ancient trees surround me. Above, autumn colored leaves sway gently to the melodious composition of the wind. The trees are covered with layers of rough, chipped bark of varying shades of brown. Their boughs are long and strong and numerous dinky limbs adjoin them. I lower myself to the ground, stretch out my hand and consider the dirt. Dropping my hand even further I grasp a clump of the dark dust. It is moist and soft yet its grains are coarse. Patches of yellow, orange and brown leaves are littered on the earth. The sun must be radiating brightly for even though the forest canopy is dense I am able to feel its fiery touch. Gilded rays bathe everything in sight with their brilliance.
         I begin to meander around the timberland. Dozens…scores… hundreds…thousands! Trees as far as the eye can see. Minutes tick away sluggishly…five…seven…ten…fourteen…I stop. I have come upon a path of stone. As I lift my head I look sideways. The trees are nowhere to be seen; I turn around. There they are, just behind me. I return to my previous position and take a few steps forward. The stone path begins to narrow. Recognition dawns on me: it is a cliff. The slab of rock that is the main part of the cliff is shaped as a triangle, with a slender tip and a blunt edge. I commence a slow, careful walk towards the tip and stop only when there is a distance of about twelve inches between the edge and me. A small amount of fear takes hold of me but my curiosity stamps it out with a quick and decisive blow. I look downwards and find myself gazing at a sea of trees, grazed with the autumn hues, that extends to the horizon. The azure sky is dotted with billowy, white clouds that form various odd shapes, and the sun rests in the great western heights.
         Retracing my steps I return to the golden woods where, because of a sudden whim, I make a right turn. This part of the forest, which I have just stepped into, is identical to the last, but a score of steps later I encounter a circular clearing. It was deserted except for a stone table that stood in its center. Cracks etched themselves on its surface while green moss blanketed the bantam, stumpy seats. It appears to be an old table of ages past and dead. Symbols are engraved on the wet, stony edge of its board. Sometime later, I find that I am heading towards the nearest oak tree.
          I sit myself, Indian style, at the base of the massive trunk resting my back against its hard exterior. A lazy calmness envelops the forest, yet I can still distinguish a few low, soft sounds. The eager water, clashing against the rounded rocks in a nearby river, strikes an entrancing and relaxing tune. The sound of the birds chirping merrily on the trees; warbling sweet and loving words to the forest. I hear a noise and calmly search the land for its source. My eyes catch a glimpse of a brown and red blur: it is a stag. Running and jumping gracefully across the woods; cleverly evading unusual portions of undergrowth.
         I stretch my legs, push myself up and give my pants a few pats to get the dirt off. Going back the way I came from I pause to contemplate the vast view offered by the cliff. The sky is now the color of gold, lined with orange and brushed with different tones of red. Billowy, puffy clouds are no more; instead, these have been refined and are now fashioned with smoother curves. Some minutes later, surrounded by tall, thick trees, I stand where I stood the first moment I opened my eyes and beheld the majestic trees and the colorful leaves. The vivid forest begins to grey and fog; the last sounds reach me and I close my eyes only to open them in the dimmed stillness of a forgotten world.