Claiming a Cloud
The book was laying on top of a thorn bush like it had fallen from the sky. It tingled when she touched it, and she heard these words in a strange accent…
I shall call this meditation “Claiming a Cloud.” Spoken in my true voice as Kalendarian the Bard in the fifth year of Duke Nultan of White River.
I am in the forest with browsing deer. They look at me but they do not flee.
I like that.
It is as if I am a spirit here, without smell or threat. Just another forest citizen.
In this timeless space, ancient information prevails. Bird songs and scamperings in dry leaves travel along little-used paths in my mind.
No city noise here. No cries of sorrow. No traders bellowing their wares. No requirement for justice.
The vivid blue after image of the dappled sunlight appears behind a tree shadow like it is hiding, playing with me. The forest gods are entertaining a visitor. How hospitable.
Now, I feel the urge to go deeper; something is calling me. I leave the trail, striking into the unknown. The trail is for civilized folk. I fancy myself something more - or is it less? - than those domesticated to the daily yoke.
Will I be the first human ever to stand on this tiny plot of sunsplashed planet? I see a faint game trail meandering through glittering spider webs, kindly grandmother's doilies set atop the brown leaf litter.
A turkey cackles. My mind conjures a greeting. “Hello stranger. Welcome home.”
The trail angles down toward the smell of water hidden in the deep shade of white and red oaks. I make “my” trail downward, striding like the first man in the world.
I see a broken bottle. All the way out here. Shit. Always someone has come before.
Even the Dwarven were newcomers once to this ancient land. To claim this place is as silly as claiming a cloud. We are forever visiting.
I came to escape the droning land of men and their small thinking. I had hoped to take something in, something wholesome to sustain me when I inevitably return to the castle and it’s dark intrigues and shifting alliances.
But now I see that I must leave something behind in order to fully enter this dappled land that is watching and whispering.
If I travel deep enough into the brambles, could the thorns tear something off? Maybe they could shear off some weight or burden that is slowing me down. Invisible spiritual litter.
It is nearing midday now, and I suddenly have a goal: a tavern lunch. I walk faster, thinking only of my destination and my empty innards, the forest spell broken as I ignore the chittering squirrels and squeaking pixies.
I stop when I feel my breath heaving. My heart is thumping. It is like I am back at the duke’s court, and I feel trapped. It all floods back. Too many burdens. Not enough hours. Not enough allies. Not enough gold.
I stop and breathe.
The breeze is nice and the sun is warm. The falling golden leaves drift down, spinning like shining ballerinas, landing as softly as a dust mote in a sunbeam.
I hear a snort. A doe has smelled me. I hear her tiptoeing through the undergrowth.
She comes closer. Then she springs gracefully across the trail, glances at me with black eyes, and vanishes like campfire smoke.
Her eyes remind me of a curious child, an innocent babe of the forest springing up from nothing, alive, to regard me.
I stand rooted a little longer. All is well for the moment, and I let the moment linger.
Inhale. Exhale.
How strange.
Inhale. Exhale.
No yesterday. No today.
Inhale. Exhale.
This is enough.
Leeka understood at last. This was how to be alive. She dropped the firewood and strode into the forest with the tingling book clutched to her chest. A deer watched her go.
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