Usually it is a room or another place with walls, but this time it is a forest. Towering sequoias loom above. It is quite in here, peaceful; just occasional wood creak or rustle is heard. The emerald light filters through the top branches and lets me see the steady move of air in it. But it is hard to breath. Such ancient beauty, but no longer ours…the shivery mist clears as I move onwards.
It is sad that fairies reside here no more, that this earthly smell of beginnings and endings has become alien. I tread without a direction when a cold sensation pierces me. I am being watched. I hesitantly turn around, and meet my stalker. His deep golden eyes imprison me at once. I cannot move, I cannot speak as he inspects me with a controlled curiosity, like I was a fly with seven legs. Just now I realize that he is actually a white bear. His coat looks as soft as a young grass early in the morning. I want to touch it, to feel it between my fingers, but I blink, and see a bear no more. Was it an illusion? I come and feel the place he should have been. It is warm. I scared him.
I step forward. So wistful about the bear that I don’t notice when I star falling, having tripped over something. I land hard despite the soft looking mist on the floor. I stand up cursing the fate, when I glare upon my evildoer. Amazingly, it just a cup; one giant British teacup lying broken, half embedded in the forest floor. A chuckle followed by a sigh escapes my lips; how long is it since I’ve been to a carrousel? Too long…
I go on, when a sound of rain reaches me. It is not a normal it sound like a melody; sol, mi, sol, mi, mi, mi, it goes on and on, as I gaze upon this difficult instrument. A lake, clear as a sky at cloudless night, and drops of dew from the tips of evergreen leaves make this musical piece. It is enchanting, but I have to move on.
I roam the forest until I reach its edge, and set my upon a dirty brown fence. It is not pleasant. It is full of shredded spider webs. However, the most disturbing thing is the scenery on other side. The ground is bare, not a plant grows there. And on the very horizon the heat- distorted sky-scrappers, factories – the city, can be seen looming as a hungry beast. I turn back, wishing never to lay my eyes upon such a grotesque thing again.