I stopped at the very edge of the forest and slowly extended a hand towards the nearest tree. Its skin was strange—chunky, jagged, and craggy. I had never been close enough to one to see it in detail, so I was unprepared for such a texture. Fruit trees were confined within carefully secured orchards, and the few varieties of small, ornamental flowering trees—little more than bushes, really—that were allowed inside the Clearings all had skin that was more or less smooth with only an occasional bump in it.

By the end of my first day of teaching the following week, the ball seemed years ago, a distant memory buried under an avalanche of paperwork, schedules, lesson plans, grading, and assignments. Had it not been for Devorah Erren’s insufferable boasting to the other girls about the ball (she being the only one of the class whose parents had allowed her to attend) I might not have thought of it at all.
By the middle of the week, however, my thoughts had turned to the upcoming festival that I was to attend with Mira and her family.

I usually go hunting in the woods. I run through the white-picket fence that is in my backyard. I have my pure wooden bow in my right hand. It is made I out of red oak tree.
I wear black rubber boots just in case there is a thunderstorm and black and brown colors for camouflage. Birds chirp and salmon jump in and out of the clear, blue water, trying to swim upstream. I finally spot a red squirrel, but it quickly runs up a tree. I grunt, throw the bow over my shoulder, and start climbing the huge tree.

Quiet, dark, alive.
A shaking hand to hold.
Do you hear music in the distance?
Faint and eerie
Beautiful.
A dance in the trees.
Flickering shadows, soft lights.
Your hands aren’t shaking anymore.
Enchanted creatures, peering from behind birches.
Do you see this elsewhere?
Magic, seeping through your blood.
Mystery, awakening your nerves.
Is this really something that happens every day?

The trees wave their welcoming branches,
The woodpecker calls in his sweet little tune.
The grass sways, and the mice gather 'round
I will welcome the voice of the woods very soon.

Wandering farther than I know I should be,
My head screams at me, "Go back! Go back!"
But my heart and the trees call me forward,
Drawing me along the unknown track.

I climb up one old, lonely tree,
So old I'm surprised it still stood.
And I tilt my head back and I close my eyes,
And I listen to the voice of the woods.

The world was small,
the woods were deep,
the stag with a cross
did run and leap
his antlers twining, like the trees
their branches winding
in the breeze
The cave was dark,
the stars were bright
stories written in them
poems and songs they used to sing
before the wind did take them
The seas were great,
the fires blazing
the warriors ran,
their torches raising
with spears and bows, and swords to pierce
silver dripping, shining
eyes so fierce

My legs long to run,
my heart longs to beat,
I yearn for the feeling,
of lifting off my feet

My voice longs to sing,
my ears long to hear
the song of the wild,
that is calling so near

My soul longs to soar
above rolling hills,
I wish I could wander
and climb trees at will

I know that I must
follow my spirit, away
and live with the land
till the end of my days.