A Covert Moment

The world has changed. The sun never comes out anymore, instead a brackish fog lingers and the world is painted in shades of grey. But it wasn’t always like this.

I think again about what I saw in the forest that day. I was stepping slowly through autumnal leaf litter, surrounded by verdant bushes, as the sun peered through patches that the oaks did not cover. I lived on the edge of the woods, far on the outskirts of town, but I always made time to go on these walks. That day the forest was silent, as fireflies drifted across the shady haze.

But then I saw something strange. A procession. The figures that walked, trance like in a line were all wearing draped robes, and some were playing a forlorn tune on wooden harps. I hid behind a tree, not wanting to profane this ceremony with my presence, already feeling obscene that even my eyes were privy to this this queer sight.

Then I noticed a door, seemingly made of marble. The figures were walking through this door, and wherever it led, I could not tell. A deep, unshakable sadness weighed on me as they abandoned my world. I wanted to call out, to beg them to stay, but the sanctity of their ritual rooted me in silence, as though even my breath would be a trespass.

This went on for some time, till at last I saw the end of the procession drawing near to the door. Shouldn’t I intervene? I felt that I knew who these figures were. They were the forest elves, who had long made their home in these thickets, and they rarely allowed humanity to even sight them. Perhaps they knew I was here. Perhaps I was to bear witness to this final parting. The harps continued to play, as they drifted through the door, lit by speckled rays of sunshine.

And then before I could name how much time had passed, they were gone. I watched as the door slowly faded out of existence, till no trace of the previous moment remained on the world. I walked through bushes and inspected the ground. Not a hint of a trail.

The harps' melancholy tune followed me, winding through my thoughts like a ghostly echo as I left the forest and returned to the mundane shelter of my home. When I returned, I noticed a murder of crows, resting on my rooftop, their empty laughter echoing through the silence. I saw clouds beginning to form, it looked like we were due for rain. I stepped through the door of my house, and wandered into the kitchen, putting the kettle onto the fire. Thunder rolled and rumbled, as rain began to fall.

I finished preparing my tea, and sat down on an armchair with a cup in hand. I was glad to be out of such miserable weather. I finished the tea, rested the teacup on the small table near the chair, and then drifted off to sleep.

That was what I saw that day.

Now it has been weeks since that incident. As I said, I have not seen sunshine since. In town, the people seem harsher, more callous. Children no longer play in the streets. The damned crows seem to be everywhere, filling the air with mocking guffaws. I overhear a farmer talking to his friend about the difficulty of getting anything to grow.

I stand at the bakery, here to buy my weeks’ worth of bread. The shopkeeper forces some loaves into brown paper bags, as I prepare to give him the money. The price has doubled in the last month. The streets are muddy bogs, filled with potholes from the horses and carriages that have striven through them.

How I miss the sun. How I miss the soft breezes, and the warmth in the air. Everything is drained of its color, and the cold seeps in to the bones. The elves were the keepers of the light. Though they resided in the forest, they were the ones who sung songs in the morning, lifting the celestial orb into the sky. Instead, this mist seems to cling the streets like a cold embrace that cannot be shaken.

My mind returns again to that ghostly march in the forest. Should I have said something? Should I have shouted at them not to leave us? Again, I see the spritely figures, their flowing apparel wistfully rippling through the air as they march through that door. Where did they go? How could they abandon us? The harps play and the fireflies dance effortlessly through the forest. They never look at me, never even raise their eyes. All of them look down in front of them, as though they are mourning something. Did they know how much we needed them? Or had we already failed them, forcing them to leave? These thoughts gnaw at me, an unrelenting ache I cannot soothe.

I walk ponderously back the way I came, noticing the store where I buy my tea and herbs is closed. Further down the streets, I see a child standing alone in the rain. Eventually I am out of the town, and following the path that leads back to my home at the edge of the forest.

That night I curl up to sleep as the unrelenting rain begins once more. I try to think of tomorrow somehow being better than today, but I struggle to believe it. As I lie underneath scores of blankets, I drift off to sleep.

That night, in my dreams I see the procession again. But something is different this time. The music stops as I step out of my hiding place.

“Where are you going?” I hear myself say.

An elf with golden hair replies. “To another world, where men have not spurned the gifts of the forest.”

“But what have we done? What have we neglected?” I ask.

“Your kind builds cities, felling ancient trees and cutting weathered stone. The forest dies as you drain it of resources. We go to a place of our own, where the world is one great forest. Our songs will enliven the forest and coax the sun from its resting place.”

“Please don’t go, we need you.”

“Tell the rest of your kind what you saw today.” He replies. “Perhaps it is not too late for you to return to the natural world from whence you came.”

“Why would anyone listen to me?”

“Implore them. Make them hear you.”

The dream begins to fade, and I find myself lying awake in my bed. Perhaps I will try to make the city folk listen, but I don’t like my chances.