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 I walked along the path slowly, knowing it would end, abruptly, at the edge of town, and I would have to turn back. I didn’t want to. I wanted to keep walking. Eventually, if I kept moving forward in the same direction I was going now, I would reach the base of the mountain in front of me. And if I kept walking, I would climb into its trees and wildflowers. I could get lost in there, in the mountains, and not return.  

There is something to be said about silence.

Silence doesn’t judge; it doesn’t criticize.

But it doesn’t help you forget either.

Quietly, I sat in the morning, listening to the

sound of the birdsong outside my window.

Coffee was perking in the kitchen, and the

fire in front of me was licking the wood.

I watched the flames leap higher. Ghostly

images of flame and smoke appeared and

disappeared like mist on the lake outside my

door.

The dream was peaceful this time, the way it always used to be, in my childhood. There I stood, at the top of the mountain, gazing on the masses of trees and wildflowers below me. The birds were chattering amongst themselves, and the sun shone brightly, and warmly, upon the scene in front of me. I could feel its gentle warmth, and it comforted me. I felt at peace. I was home. Somewhere, below me, my mother was moving around in the kitchen, preparing to make breakfast and wake Jen. I should go down to join them, but I didn’t want to leave.

As I sat in the dark, thoughts swirling through my mind, I started to remember. How it used to be. My brother had always loved me, I knew. He looked out for me, protected me. And he would talk to me, sometimes for hours, just to find out what I needed, or what I was thinking. He always loved me. But Jenny was his treasure. And then she was gone. And so was he.

In the calm of the morning, when the wind

was still and all was quiet save for the

occasional cry of an owl or beat of a bat’s

wing, here, at that time, I sat, quietly,

reflecting on my life. What it had become,

where it might be headed. Sometimes the

best day is the day you accept. The day

begins as it did the day before, the sun rises

in the sky, the stars disappear. Clouds turn

into mist as they are chased away by the

warmth of the morning. There are days when

you know. You realize that this is the way it

is, and the way it will remain. And that’s OK,

because there’s nothing you can do to

change it, to change the past.

 Before the day begins, before the sun rises above the horizon to shine light on the new day, there is a quiet, and a peace to the night. Sometimes the wind blows only so slightly, and brings a faint scent of wood and morning flowers. The birds are mostly silent, as they huddle in the trees awaiting the first rays of warmth. An occasional rustle in the trees around me reminds me that I’m not alone. The residents of the forest have begun to stir. 

 I went outside only to be greeted by the cool, morning air. There was a gentle breeze coming from behind me, which briefly rustled through the leaves of the trees, which had just recently made their reappearance on the branches they had left behind. I started out into the forest. There was a path, not far from my house, which was almost hidden to the casual observer. It was usually abandoned, and secluded. The path lay in front of me, half hidden by the canopy of trees on either side. As if the path was beckoning me, the gentle breeze started once more, seemingly pushing me onward.