An Ode to Spiderland

The forest is never lonely. It holds the footprints of lovers past. Delicate, sentient, foreboding. Come, seek its mysteries. It beckons you. …Fallen leaves cover the trails, a slimy, damp mélange of leaves and barren soil. Aster flowers poke through the ground – bright mauve and puce and lavender – ‘til an early frost kills them wistfully. Winter is grim, even for the spriteliest of plants. Raw ice forms over dirt, a dark, slippery enclosure on the trails. Swiftly, the temperature sinks. Animals sleep peacefully ‘til Spring time, and when Spring arrives, they crawl from burrows and dance in puddles of melting snow. Winter is coming, though there are days to be had – a dash of green and red and yellow. Menacingly, the wind spirals. Only a few days now. Air whooshes through the trees, snapping the frail branches. It is nearly time.…The forest is always breathing, keeping secrets alive, long after the last whisper, long after we all fall asleep.