There once was a young girl who lived in a house alongside a forest.
Her parents were very busy. They would always have “business” to attend to and would often forget to attend to their daughter.
Whenever this girl was lonely, she would open the rusty screen door leading to her backyard and step out onto her old wooden porch. From there she could see the towering monoliths of the forest just beyond her fence. The great limbs of these trees bent over the fence and vines crept through the boards. She could play within the confines of her yard. She would make little hideouts from fallen limbs and lay in the curls of tree roots to watch the clouds. When she danced in the wind, the trees would run their slender fingers through her long dark hair. In summer, she would eat the berries from the branches that reached over the fence to her. In autumn she would wrap herself in gold and scarlet and sleep, warm in the embrace.
Many, many times, she would gaze into the thick forest beyond her fence-posts and her imagination would soar.
At night, after tucking herself in and reading herself a story, she would doze to the lullaby of the trees singing for her on the wind.
* * *
It was an unusually cold day, just near the start of autumn, when fall gusts first begin to sharpen with chill. The young girl returned home from an unusually long day at school. She had spent most of class time gazing out the window at the first brightly dressed trapeze artists flipping and twirling from their branches.
She plopped her backpack and coat on the sofa. (Her mother hated that, and she knew it.) She skipped into the kitchen and ate some crackers on the counter. (This was something else her mother hated.) Her mother was in the study working, and her father had not yet returned from the office. This was usually the case, so the girl continued on towards her goal. She left the kitchen in disrepair and turned her attention towards her backyard.
She put her coat back on. This was not the fluffy white coat which her mother had spent a great deal of money on, but her brown coat which her mother considered obscene. It was rugged and had flannel lining. Though a bit too large, it was as warm as her grandmother’s embrace. Grandmother was the one who had supplied it. It had been Grandfather’s. The girl hid it behind the snowsuits, so that her mother would not discover it and throw it away.
She held the soft lining to her face and breathed, long and slow. It forever smelled of Grandmother. Grandmother was not like the other adults that the girl knew; there was no empty look in her eyes or dry command on her lips. Grandmother listened, and when she did, her wrinkled face was smooth with understanding. She never darted away while you were speaking or interrupted to answer a call. When she spoke, her soft voice always flowed like a creek and rose and fell like a song. When she held her granddaughter, she ran her slender fingers through her beloved’s long dark hair.
It was Grandmother who had taught the girl how to deal with mean kids at school and how to carry numbers in addition and how to put her hair in a French braid. Grandmother was always there when she needed her with a knowing smile and gentle laugh. Sometimes when the girl was braiding her hair or doing homework on the floor, she would see Grandmother gazing at her with an anxious sadness in her eyes. The girl would distract Grandmother at those times. She did not like seeing Grandmother so sad.
Zipping the coat up to her chin, the girl gathered her dirty boots and red gloves. Her crocheted hat was still in her hands when she kicked open the rusty screen door and stepped into the rush of autumn.
The trees welcomed her. They reached out their tender branches to her. The girl clamored down the steps of the porch and skipped across the backyard. She wandered towards the fence that held the trees at bay. She found herself a pedestal atop a tree root which had grown up out of the soil. It seemed to lift her higher, away from the ground, the yard, and the fence. She turned her face towards the high branches of the forest, shut her eyes, and opened her arms wide.
The girl felt a tiny gust of air against her face. It was only a small breeze; hardly enough to notice. However, this breeze carried with it a banquet of delightful smells: pure water, excitement, and a hint of fear.
The girl turned her face towards this enticing breeze and opened her eyes. Straight ahead, hardly visible at the corner of the yard, was a small opening in the fence. The underbrush of the forest had pushed through this small segment of fence at its weakest point. The opening these plants had created was the perfect size for an adventurous child to crawl through.
The girl scrambled across the yard. When she reached the corner where the plants had pushed through, she stopped and breathed deeply. Yes, truly, this was the source of the breeze. The air that rushed through this opening was a delight to her senses.
She didn’t look back towards her house before she crawled through. She did not hesitate or question her actions. She pushed her way through the fence and was welcomed into the forest.
