A Secret Glade

A Secret Glade


The sunlight shone through the canopy of leaves, forming great pillars of green-gold radiance, shining directly in his eyes. A smile slid across his face as he let his hands dangle and felt the soft breath of the fern fronds tickle the tips of his fingers. Earth, leaves and the scent of pine and cedar welled up and flooded his nostrils with every breath and he indulged, the odour heavy and fresh. He was content in this place, far away from the noise and people and the cars. Here, he could relax. He could think for hours on end, or not at all, and that was a great comfort to him. His secret glade. Birds chirruped in the branches, and he reached in his pocket, grabbed handfuls of seed and sprinkled it upon the ground. His smile now tugged hard at his cheeks, for every bird he could see had swept down upon the seed and was feasting with a content rivalled only by him. The sun was warm on his neck, and he removed his grey jacket, letting it fall without a care to his feet, which shuffled and crunched happily on the leaf-piled ground. A small roll of thunder loomed from somewhere he could not see, but he paid it no mind, for he knew no storm would come. He breathed deeply again, and began to walk east, watching a pair of feisty squirrels shoot between the trees, seemingly caroming off rocks and trunks at random. He reached a point, marked by two thick pines side-by-side, where he turned again and headed back the way he came. The thunder began to boom again, the same as before. There was a cool, gentle breeze in the air, which smelled of lakes that were near and hidden; but the storm would not blow his way. So, he made his way to a certain tree. It was a cedar, one with low-slung branches which he climbed as he would years and years before, despite the aches and the short breaths and the weak knees. And when he reached his favourite sitting-branch, he settled in and closed his eyes. All he could hear were the snatches of bird-song and the screeches of the squirrels. The thunder rolled yet again, breaking his relaxation. It had not changed, but it now mocked him, and he felt out of ease. He descended the tree, went back and picked up his jacket, which he brushed of all the dirt and the leaves. He then turned on his heel and opened a small door in the middle of a landscape, and opened it. Just before he exited the forest, he flicked a light switch, and the sun lamps set high in the rafters flicked off, taking away the sunlight. The birds stopped singing, because for all they knew it was night-time yet again. Another switch and the fans which blew in the cool breeze ceased, taking away the smell of lakewater. However, as he closed the door, locked it and turned to go, he could still hear the rumble of the subways- the thunder which invaded his secret glade every five minutes.