“The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.”- Alfred Noyes

The Forest’s Song

I woke to a sky bruised with storm clouds, the air thick with the promise of rain. The wind tore through the trees like a wild thing, bending branches into bows and scattering leaves like ancient runes. I followed its restless path, my hair snapping behind me, until I found myself at the edge of a stream.

The water churned, restless and dark, its surface stippled by the wind. It felt alive- a creature of the storm, singing a song of chaos and creation. I knelt, my reflection fractured by the current, and wondered if the stream recognised me. If it, too, felt the weight of unspoken secrets.

The Language of the Wild

The forest speaks in riddles today. The wind carries voices that are not quite human- a sigh here, a laugh there, the murmur of a name I almost recognise. I found a crow’s feather lodged in the crook of a birch tree, its edges iridescent with oil-slick blue. A gift? A warning? The forest does not explain.

I traced the feather along my palm, its barbs catching on my skin. In the distance, thunder growled, and the first drops of rain began to fall.

I ritualised the rainfall. I whispered to the wind let me be as fearless as the storm, I collected rainwater and anointed myself under the angry sky. “Clear my mind” as I touched my temples, “Free my voice” as I touched my throat, “Strengthen my spirit” as I touched my heart. I listened to the wind- I opened my arms to it, I filled myself with the energy of the raging wind and then, I left the feather as an offering- a thanks given to the forest for its guidance.

Reflections

The storm has passed now, leaving the forest glistening and still. But I feel its echo in my bones- a reminder that even the wildest tempests are part of the tapestry.

The forest doesn’t offer answers; it only offers mysteries. And mysteries, I am learning, are a kind of magic all their own.