Threshold

Reaching skyward, I stretch to the sun as I grasp the aged wooden clips that belonged to my grandmother. Down into my arms comes the stiff white cotton nightshirt, blown into a shape of it’s own by the easterly winds.

The earth is revolting, and shows her displeasure by turning the horizon into a menacing black growl, complete with rolling clouds. Her cool breath has done it’s chore, and for that much I am grateful, as I detect the sweet smell of rain ebbing closer. Leaving clothesline behind, I clutch my bundle of pristine linens close to my chest so as to be protected from the coming storm.

I move quickly along the path back towards the cabin in the trees. My foot falls break the silence as I snap twigs and patter along the cool smooth rocks. There is a sudden stillness and I know that soon the fury will disrupt our peace. Looking back at the hill I’ve descended, I’m racing the darkness. With the cabin coming into sight ahead of me, I take in the strong line of the roof and the loft window. Still open from this morning, there is no longer bird song being filtered by the soft yellow curtains. The window seems to reach towards me, beckoning me closer.

Now with the quiet that permeates our forest corner I stand stock still. Not a blade of grass moves, not a leaf stirs. I am an intruder in this rhythmic land, the only one scurrying through the trees towards my manmade shelter. All the other creatures in the forest had the good sense to be attentive to signals provided by this great rolling sphere. They are peering out safely from under roots and branches, perhaps wondering if I’ll make it to my berth in time.

As if cued, there comes a great rustling of trees and leaves and grasses. The sand and dirt from the path stings my legs like a thousand tiny needles as they whip in the wind. The storm is upon me as I stretch for the door handle. Big splatters of rain strike at my calves as I step over the threshold into my kitchen.

Dark and cave like, the cabin seems to wrap around me as I lay the linens down on chair. With the sound of the wind clattering through the house, I resist the urge to bolt all the windows and hide myself away. To live in the forest is to be one with all it’s life. Instead I stand framed by the portal to nature, a shadow lurking on the fringe. With hair squalling and mimicking the branches outside in a frantic dance, I taste the air and revel in it’s earthy delight.