A Funny Forrest
Leaves crunched beneath her feet on each gray stone step by step as she went. It was the start of the time of two suns, where fall ends and is followed promptly by the coming of spring. Leaves die, new buds push off whatever's not yet dead, and flowers bloom for months on end. On this planet there were two suns, though they both lit the sky together for only part of the year. When she first came to the planet, she chose the name Frena. It meant spring in the native language of her people. The double star portion of the planet's orbit meant that she would get 400 straight days of moderate warmth and sunlight. On her home planet, cute black flats, black tights, and a white cropped top wouldn't have been possible if she wanted to just get up and leave the house. Now she can freely enjoy the stone paved roads of the small Glen where she made her home. Dressed however she pleased.
Golden Leaves crowned tall, twisted, sand-colored trees that hung lazily above the sparsely cobbled stones. Small mushrooms with thin stems and even thinner, flirty, flared caps grew in patches on the ground below empty brows of snow soap bushes. Basking in sunlight, they reflect a warm yellow color, like a pastel sunflower waiting its turn to make someone smile. And in the Moonlight, they glowed a soft pale blue and pink, a reminder of the old things not of this world. Frena walked gracefully, her arms swung gently by her side, and her inky black hair floated on the breeze. Above her head. small branches reached down, still holding onto the end of summer's bounty. The air moved slower in her part of the woods. It was sweet, and a little bit heavy, and carried memories, and future stories she hadn't yet heard. Following the trail, she was led around a corner revealing an arch way break in the trees up ahead.
She noted once again how close and cozy these gentle woods felt as she walked out into the more open sky. Stepping from the cover of the thick old growth, light broke through the sparse canopy of thin trees that stood much taller, fewer and further in between. Soft pastel oranges and blues ran through the otherwise cream-colored tree bark, contrasting gently against the honey colors up above. The path before her had no stones, or rocks, or any unruly roots waiting to catch any toes or feet. Instead, the ground was covered in soft straw-colored grasses, little purple flowers on long tiny stems that hung like falling stars swaying in the breeze, and a variety of moss that would work well as a cushion for the sweet dreams of a tiny innocent field moose.
To the untrained eye a walk through these Woods would be just that. You would find yourself innocently meandering, each step meaningfully placed somehow in just the right spot, one after the other. And if you have the eyes to see it, lidless and always witnessing. Then eventually, a certain step wouldn't feel quite right. Before your foot fell, it would seem of the utmost urgency to place the step, maybe slightly to the right, or left of where you would have otherwise. Now, you'd also have to have your internal disposition fixed wholly on your desire, a steady and even pace of breath, and just a dash of confident ambivalence. In which case, you might find your foot falling gently on your way, for example, to the bakers, as is in Frenas case today.
You see, forests like these don't just grow anywhere. They're expertly woven into the fabric that the land is anchored to. From a semi-spiritual environmentally dimensional perspective, they arn’t entirely natural per say. Beings like Frenna exist in a state of resistance. In normal places, governed by conventional wisdom, and standards that cater to the least amongst us, she would be considered something that would need to be removed, in the way of ‘things as they are’ so to say. And in their eyes, if left to her own accord, could grow into a nightmare for otherwise consensus-based realities. So instead, she lives here, where old roots grow deep, unreached by the frost, or the fire, or the frivolities of fearful children.
She had walked for 5 minutes before her foot felt like it was about to land in not quite the right spot. Without a thought, she shifted it gently, landing on loose dry soil. Her face warmed. A certain road, hidden in plain sight, opened in front of her off to the right. Golden Willows wept happily in the midday sun, and they sang a song, so softly, that if you didn't know, or weren't paying close attention, would sound like nothing more than a breeze in the sky, high above the trees. Frenas ears didn't need to pay attention. To her, it sounded like a mighty symphony. Dynamic, synesthetic webs stitched together into complex forms and ideas that tickled the innocent child inside her. The tall thin trees had all but disappeared behind her, a marker of the path previously taken.
The soft white lace fringe on the edge of her shirt fluttered against her ribs and back, writing a poem of thanks for the grace of her presence in this part of the wood. The wind accompanied her down the trail to where it broke downwards over a hill covered in grass and flowers. Just off the shores of a small lake, or a large pond, depending on your hydrological nomenclatural proclivities, she saw the familiar grandmother tree. A gentle smile softly painted Frena’s face. After all, today is Tuesday - the greatest of all days. And she is going to the bakery.
Tall grass, wild, and unkept reached halfway up her calf, tickling her playfully as she came around the edge of the tree. A gnarled and massive, tuberous trunk resplendent with the same gold stars as the rest of the forest held the earth tight with bulging roots, twisting and curling through the ground, leaving only one path forwards. Her cheeks swelled and lips curled, reaching her hand down to the grass. Her fingers dripped blue sparks that fell, melting into the ground. The grass giggled. She looked out over the water, glassy and contemplative. A few old trees hung around the lake, and the greater forest could be seen just beyond a hill on the other side of the small valley clearing. The smell of warm custard wafted into her senses, but there was yet one more thing to do before she was granted access to the other side of the door.
Firstly, she closed her eyes and bent her head to the tree ever so slightly and took a few steps towards the edge of the water. Each step, meaningful. Each step, precise. She knelt on one knee, bent the other, and slid it beneath her. She pulled the hair covering her neck over her respective shoulders and pressed each hand, firmly, palm up into her lap. Leaning out over the grassy edge and down over the water, she caught her own reflection. Her charcoal black complexion, speckled with even darker freckles framed two eyes bearing deep purple pupil-less irises. She watched her own reflection bow to her, raise its head, and wait. In turn, she tipped her head, raised it, and closed her eyes. The sound of the songs the trees sang softened, almost as if they were waiting for something. An Eerie silence fell.
........
Hummmm
The low humming (which might be understood by a human as similar to a note bowed at the top of a cello), marinated in purpose and priority, filled the air for all those with the ears to hear it. Frena’s mouth was closed and still. Though, the sound, clear and uninhibited-was in fact coming from her. She sat up, back straight, eyes closed, heart open. The low hum split into two, raising both in intensity, and in frequency. A series of darker blotches on her neck began to glow a watermelon pink color, and the second hum began breaking into a series of harmonic overtones. The trees turned their leaves instinctually towards the lake where she knelt. The skies opened and clouds seemingly cleared way for the sun to paint every lake weed, wooded nook, or rock in the area. The song ebbed and flowed for about 3 minutes, though were you there to experience it, you'd be more than likely to feel as though days of ecstatic bliss had assailed you.
Each note began to build and climb into a massive crescendo. Each voice weaved and tied themselves into a single multifaceted spiral of sound reaching up, and up, and up. It's anchor point, Frenna, whose eyes were still closed, kneeling calmly at the edge of the water. The lights on her neck were one by one flickering from a pink to a banana yellow color. She leaned back over the water, eyes still closed, her reflection staring back at her patiently.
Each note came into consonants with one another, and the last light glowed yellow. Muscles in her forehead tensed. Small veins crawled to the surface and a crease tore itself vertically across her forehead. The sound became almost shrill and icy, but hot, until all that was left was a nearly imperceptible buzzing. The crease peeled apart, exposing a white eye with a yellow Iris and a pale blue pupil. The surface of the water rippled, and her reflection peeled open a white eye with a bright blue iris and a yellow pupil. The sound vanished with the closing of both third eyes, and the water rippled again. Though, this time it was her reflection that stood and left, leaving her- still, sat there, staring at the edge of the beautiful water, under the two suns, in the company of the golden leafed trees.
This story (including this statement) has been translated and interpreted from its original language into your local dialect and syntax.
Please note, some words may not be Translated Acurately, or at all due to the dissimilarities between alien cultures, customs, and complexities
She liked to go to the bakery on Tuesdays. Sat upon the second to bottom step in front of her mint green front door, she pulled on a pair of shiny black flats, with a teeny tiny matching black bow near the toes. They were soft, and she liked the way her stocking covered feet felt when they slipped into them. It was a matter of self-love that she wore the things she liked. In her mind, it was a privilege often taken for granted in developed worlds.The door clicked behind her.