DANCERS IN A TIME OF GRIEF

July 25. I have begun this journal as a record of my thoughts now that I have moved out to this small cottage in the woods. I need time and space and peace to recover from a very messy and bitter divorce from the man I thought loved me, whom I’d loved with all my heart for all the time we were together, only to find that he’d been cheating on me for years with my best friend. The feeling of betrayal nearly destroyed me. I have quit my job, collected my savings – what was left after the divorce – at least the settlement was civilised – and moved away from old painful memories to collect my thoughts and cherish my pain like a wounded animal. The cottage is surrounded by beautiful trees – oaks, beeches, elms, birches, yews. They cast a benevolent shade on the cottage and I see birds in the branches. Yesterday after I had unpacked my things, I went out into the woods to just enjoy the feeling of serenity. And through the trees I caught sight of a family of deer! A buck, a doe and a fawn. I don’t know enough about deer to say what type they were, but I took it as a sign that I was welcome and that I would find healing here.

July 30. I have a comfortable single bed in a beautiful bedroom with colourful curtains and a flowered bedspread. Whoever chose the décor, it feels like they were thinking of me. The cottage is tiny but it has everything I need. The kitchen is adequate for my needs. I’m thinking of getting back into cooking like I did before life got too busy. I have an old cookbook of my grandmother’s, with pencilled notes and recipes in between the printed ones. It is a little shabby from all the use it’s had over the decades, but I’m putting it in a place of honour in the kitchen. It contains so many memories, of time spent in the kitchen with my mother and grandmother, teaching me to cook, gently correcting my mistakes, congratulating me on my minor childhood triumphs. And I might get back into painting. I enjoyed it so much before I met Will, but I had no time for it, what with cooking and cleaning and children, organising school for them, school projects. Then I went back to work. Not that I regret any of it. I had great fulfilment in watching the kids grow and blossom. I regret nothing – except Will’s betrayal. How could he have done it? And with Betty, my best friend? I had no idea until he told me he was leaving me for her. And my whole world fell apart.

August 3. I go out into the forest every day after breakfast. The trees seem to welcome me. I love the cool breezes that flit through their leaves and caress my face. I think if I was reborn I’d like to be a tree. They sway in the wind, they live far longer than we do, they provide homes for animals and birds, and they do little except observe the world. My bedroom has glass doors that face out into the forest, and I lie awake in bed looking out at the tree trunks in the dark, lit up by the moon as she passes over. The leaves rustle and lull me to sleep. I feel this is a place where I could make my home forever.

Aug 5. I saw the family of deer again today! I got a much better look at them this time. The fawn seems very young, but the mother keeps pausing to let it catch up if it falls behind. They come and go, appearing and disappearing as the sunlight filters down through the leaves. They seem to have this particular area as their own territory. I’ve named them Chuck the buck, Flo the doe and the baby is Dawn the fawn.

Aug 10. I got a text from Amy today. She wants to come visit. I think she’s concerned about me. But I’m fine. I’m enjoying it here, and though she’s my daughter and all, I really don’t want anyone to come visiting. She’d probably want to talk about the divorce. I’d rather just let the forest heal me. I don’t want therapy or counselling or even talking with family. So I told her not to come, I’m doing fine as I am.

Aug 12. I’m really falling in love with the forest. The trees seem to bend down and whisper secrets to me when the breeze blows through their leaves. I see birds flying from one to another. I don’t know much about birds, but I recognise the cuckoo’s call of course, and I think I saw a robin and a wren. I see young birds with their parents – not chicks, but partly grown. Teenagers, I suppose. I wonder if they give their parents as much heartache and grief as human teenagers do?

Aug 15. I sometimes lie in bed until late morning, looking at the beauty of the forest. It’s so calm. I’ve seen Chuck and Flo and Dawn two days in a row. It’s lovely to see the way they care for her. Though of course I have no way of knowing if the fawn is a boy or a girl. But I can’t think of a boy’s name that rhymes with fawn, so Dawn she shall be.

Aug 20. I’ve been painting, and I’m finding it hard to really do justice to the wonderful shifts of light and shade among the trees. But I’m staying with it. I find it soothing, and I’m enjoying myself. And I’m cooking up a storm in the kitchen. There’s some amazing dishes in that old cookbook. It’s taken me a while to get used to the oven, but I’m slowly getting on top of it. It’s nice only having to cook for mysel. So what if I like peanut butter on slices of apple? Or walnut and celery sandwiches? I’m still working on rice pudding, though. It’s so hard to get it exactly right. I have such memories of my grandmother’s rice puddings, with the skin on top and the light dusting of cinnamon.

Aug 30. Amy texted me again today. To tell me that Will is going to marry Betty. Not the news I wanted to hear, though I suppose it was inevitable. I wonder how long it’ll be before he cheats on her. I can’t wish them well. I know Amy wants Will and me to get along – he’s her father after all – but no, I’ll never forgive him.

Sept 3. It’s hunting season, and there are hunters everywhere in the forest. I fear for Chuck and Flo and Dawn. But what can I do? Those bastards are legally allowed to traipse around with their cannons and camo outfits. And trying to kill my friends. I had a confrontation with one today. He had no idea of what I was talking about. Called me a tree-hugger and a snowflake. Sometimes I wonder what motivates some people. Do they actually enjoy killing things? And bragging to their friends about their score? And putting heads up on their walls?

Sept 5. I’ve been in tears all day. The bastards have killed Chuck. I saw one of them mounting his poor limp body on his car, posing for a photo with it. How can people be like this? I really have lost faith in humans. Give me trees any time. I haven’t seen Flo and Dawn at all. I hope they’ve found somewhere safe to hide. But is there anywhere safe in this forest for them?

Sep 10. No sign of Flo and Dawn. I fear for their safety. I’ve been trying to spoil things for the hunters. Making lots of noise, crashing through the undergrowth, scaring off the birds – I hope that will alert my friends and help them escape. But I can only do so much. The hunters hate me. They poured paint on my car – at least I suppose it was them. And they have come around the cottage at night, revving their engines and shining headlights through my windows.

Sep 15. The worst has happened. I found Flo and Dawn’s bodies. The hunter was about to load Flo onto his car. I told him he was a murderer, that it was illegal to kill fawns, that I’d report him to the police, but the damage is done. I took his license number and a photo of him and his car. I reported him to the police – I drove into town especially. But I don’t think they’re going to do much about it. I buried Dawn – the bastard left her lying there - obviously not bragging material for him to take home. Too much like shooting fish in a barrel.

Sep 30. I haven’t felt like doing anything since the deer were killed. I’ve lost faith in humanity altogether, and my enjoyment in cooking and art seems so trivial I’ve given up on them.

Oct 3. I was looking out of my bedroom feeling miserable when I thought I saw movement outside. I thought there must have been someone there, but there was nobody. I hope it’s not one of those hunters again.

Oct 5. It happened again. Just a quick movement out in the clearing between the house and the forest. Clearer this time. But it didn’t look like a hunter or anything. And anyway, I didn’t hear a car or see headlights.

Oct 7. There are people out there! I don’t know what’s going on, but there’s more than one of them. I see them occasionally as they pass from the shadow into the moonlight. They only come out at night. I’d swear they were dancing. But that’s ridiculous.

Oct 10. They were there again – almost every night now. At least a dozen of them. They’re slim and graceful. Wearing long filmy gowns or floor-length dresses. And they are dancing! Who are they?

Oct 11. One of them came up to my window last night and peered in. A slight body, a slim, almost pointy face with high cheekbones. It almost makes me believe in dryads, those spirits of the trees that you read about in old legends. And then he – she? - went back to the dance. They are enchanting to watch. They almost heal me from the deaths of the deer and the horrible betrayal from Will and everything else that has gone wrong in my life recently.

Oct 12. One came up to the glass doors on my bedroom last night and looked in. Then beckoned. I’m sure they wanted me to come and join the dance. Am I going crazy? Is it the isolation? Or – perhaps more frightening – is it real? Is this really happening?

Oct 13. It happened again. One of them came up to the window and beckoned to me. I nearly got out of bed and went outside to join them. What would Amy think? What would my friends think? But somehow I’m not scared. I think if they were evil I would feel frightened or out of control. But they just seem welcoming. They seem to be enjoying themselves so much. Are there such things as dryads? There’s so little we really know about the world around us, cooped up in our houses, in big cities, away from nature. People used to be more in touch with their surroundings. They knew the stars, the birds, the seasons, the trees. I know so little, I feel so ignorant. I don’t have the internet here in the forest, naturally enough. It’s been a blessing up to now, a separation from all the social media, the arguments, the people with their prejudiced ideas, the nastiness. I’ve been so blessed living here in the forest away from all of that. A grocery run into town once a week, that’s been my only contact with people since I got here, and I’m so glad of it. But I need to find a few things out, now. I’ve decided to drive into town and have a look in the library to see what I can find out about tree spirits – dryads or whatever they may be called.

Oct 15. It’s not a very good library, but it did have an old encyclopaedia, and I was able to look up what it had to say about tree spirits. It was only a couple of pages; I photocopied them and brought them home. There are legends of tree spirits throughout the world. Japan, Greece, India, Ancient Egypt, Estonia, Brazil, Burma. The information is pretty sparse and the encyclopaedia dismisses it as primitive superstition (of course!) but having seen what I’ve seen I’m not so sure.

Oct 17. I’ve decided if they invite me again I’m going out to join them. I don’t care what other people might think. I know what I’ve seen. And I don’t have any fear or worries about them. Surely if they were dangerous, I’d know? They’re not sinister at all, they’re joyful.

Oct 19. I did it! I went out and joined them! They were so welcoming, as if I belonged with them. I wonder if my attempts to protect the deer had anything to do with it? And my obvious love for this place? Are they really the spirits of the trees? I don’t know, but I almost felt I could hear them whispering to me, in the same voices I used to hear in the fluttering of the leaves in the breeze. I’m sure they’re happy for me to be part of the Dance. I use a capital letter because it’s so much an important thing – it seems like a stately ceremony conducted by beings who are old and wise, full of a significance and meaning I can only grasp at, watching it slip through my fingers.

Oct 20. I danced with them again last night! And somehow they seem to be becoming more real, more accessible. I feel more and more that I have so much in common with them, that I’m beginning to understand them, and get a glimpse of their deep, deep wisdom. I’ll be dancing with them again tonight. I know they’ll be there again.

Oct 21. I danced with them again last night, but I don’t think they’ll be back for awhile. Amy came to visit today. I’d told her not to, but she said she was concerned for me. She took one look around the cottage and it confirmed her fears. I must admit with all that’s been going on I haven’t been doing the housework the way I used to – it was a bit of a mess. The washing up was still in the sink – of course there’s no dishwasher (except me – I tried to joke about that but she didn’t seem amused). And I’d left my painting stuff scattered around the place without tidying up. And I used to be so driven about housework – everything with a place and everything in its place. Since I’ve been here I’ve become far more relaxed about things that don’t matter. I offered to make her a meal and then discovered that the fridge was empty – I’d forgotten to do the weekly shopping run. She told me Will wanted to get in touch, that we should at least pretend, for family harmony. I told her what I thought of him. I’m afraid I hurt her feelings, but she really has no concept of how he hurt me. He’s her father, I understand that. But he was my husband. I’d always thought he loved me, that he prized me above every other woman in the world. And he betrayed my trust – with my best friend. What kind of person does that? If I never see him again, it’ll be too soon. Amy left after awhile, but I think she’ll be back. She obviously thinks I’m deteriorating – she has no idea that I’ve found a new life, much better than anything I’ve ever had before. I didn’t tell her about the dryads, of course. There’s no way she could have accepted that. She’d have thought I had a screw loose, for sure. I hope they come back soon.

Nov 14. Three weeks without them. I haven’t wanted to make entries in this diary with them gone. Life seems so flat now. I can’t get any joy out of anything. Not quite true. I still love walking in the forest. I put flowers on Dawn’s grave every day and talk to her for a few minutes.

Nov 16. ‘They’re back! They danced in the clearing and invited me to join them! I was so overjoyed, I danced with tears in my eyes, grinning as if my heart would burst!

Nov 17. That’s it. When they leave tonight after the Dance I’m going with them.

‘I’m sorry Miss. There’s no sign of your mother. It’s as if she just up and left. No forwarding address, no sign of her, nothing. She tidied up the house and put everything away. You say all her clothes are there, and her suitcases? So she probably didn’t go off on a trip or anything. And anyway, you’ve already said she wouldn’t do that without telling you. But she was acting rather strangely, last time you saw her, right? And that diary was pretty bizarre, you have to admit. Who knows what was going through her mind? We’ve done a search of the forest and we’ll file a missing person’s report, of course, but if she doesn’t want to be found, we can’t do much.’

‘There’s only one thing – that sapling at the edge of the clearing – I don’t remember seeing it before and I’m sure I would have remembered it – it’s such a beautiful thing. You don’t remember seeing it before either? Strange.’ ore either? Strange.’