Somewhere in Time

The crunch of the year’s first snow gave way underfoot as I traversed the forest. The trees stood as defiant sentinels against the seasonal weather. They may have shed their aesthetic garment of russet leaves, their branches may have bowed under the weight of the snow, but they did not falter; the guardians who were ever present.

           Step by step, my body guided me forward, muscle memory taking over, perfectly in line with the now invisible path buried under four inches of pristine white snow. Even the footprints of the creatures who called this place home hadn’t left a mark, as though the very ground was consecrated by some divine forest God. Only I had been the once to disturb the sanctity of this place, to disturb the spirit of this place.

           The grey haze of pre-dawn was beginning to lift as the sun extended itself upwards, creating a dappling of diamonds or constellations of stars in the blanket of snow before me. It was moments like this that I understood why this had always been her favourite time of year. Many saw it as the time where everything withered and died, but she saw the beauty of what was happening around her.

           I trod carefully, not wishing to tarnish this place more than I had to. The sound of fluttering wings passed overhead, followed by calls and singing of my avian watchers, curious of my presence. The forest knew I was here. I may have been the only person to walk these wooden paths, but I was never alone. The birds were joined by another voice, equally beautiful and melodical, but this was no bird song, this was a woman’s voice; her voice.

           My legs froze. It couldn’t be her. Could it? It was impossible. Wasn’t it? The words to our song floated through the forest, bouncing off every surface around me, making it impossible to tell from which direction it was coming.

           My heart drummed in my chest. I hadn’t heard that voice for years. Hours we would spend here, and hours she would sing for me, twirling and dancing in dresses inappropriate for the weather, then again, she never did mind the bite of the cold. It was a siren call for me to find our place again, to find her again.

           I let out a breath I didn’t notice I was holding in, my mind returning to the present. A shock of wet and cold assailed my system. Standing still for so long had allowed the snow to reach in over the lip of my boots, its icy claws snatching at my appendages. Nothing focused the mind like the cold. The birds still sang, but her voice was no longer accompanied their song.

           It was too much to ask that it was her that I’d heard. Every time I walked through this forest my sense of her only got stronger, the echoes of her haunted this place, haunted my mind.

           I found my way off the path, following the sound of the stream. The water cracking and washing over the thinner layers of ice. My feet dug into the bank, sinking into the loose dirt and snow while the water lapping at the front of my boots, rhythmically pushing my mind to a trance like state. This was where I saw her last. The memory fresh in my mind.

           She danced bare foot in the stream, kicking and flicking up splashes of water at me while she sung old folk songs in what might have been Irish or Gaelic. All I knew was it sounded old, but by no means was it anything less than mesmerising. She conjured up the image of a forest Fae, or a nymph, enchanting the helpless mortal as she played with and pulled at my heart under the rich summer sun. It was as though she was born to the wilderness, made for it. There wasn’t a time where she was more comfortable than when she was surrounded by nature.

           She was the reason I knew about this forest. She’d brought me here. Her home away from home, although, this place was more like home than any construction that could be found in the city. No building of stone or brick compared. No assortment of material things shifted her view. This was a part of her that she had gifted me, sharing her wonder and feelings she had for this place with me. It was a gift that could never be topped.

           We lay near the bank of the stream, arms entwined around each other staring up through the canopy of leaves, pointing out the various shapes that the clouds formed overhead. We’d make stories of the shapes we saw, explaining away why a lion and a rocking chair were in the sky – a big cat looking for a place to sleep. As evening set in the clouds were replaced by stars and we traced constellations, questioning what else lay within the cosmos. Sleep took over, the comfort of her skin, the wash of wind and the sounds of nature lulling me ever deeper. Dreams of a time before. Dreams of her.

           When morning came, she was nowhere to be seen. I spent weeks searching for her, scouring every inch of the forest. She couldn’t have just disappeared, and yet, there was no trace of her. No footprints leading away from where we lay. No sign of anyone being there, no sign but what I’d left.

           I spent every weekend for the last ten years coming back here, searching, hoping to see her again. Some days I would hear her voice singing, calling me back to the stream. Other days I would see a shade of her, flitting through the trees, as though we were playing a playful game of tag. I could never catch her. She’d slip away behind another tree, inches before I could touch her, vanishing into nothingness. No matter how hard I tried, she was always just out of reach.

           Maybe she was a fae-child after all, and she’d returned to where she belonged. I should be grateful for the time that I got with her and the joy she’d brought to my life. Even so, I couldn’t let the thought of her go. In the winter I would visit more often because of the holidays. It has led people to ask why it is that I love winter so much. It was more than the cold that she loved, more than the feel of snow grinding underfoot or the rhythmic trickle of the water of the stream where we’d made so many memories. It’s because on the banks of that stream, I can almost hear her voice as she haunts me. That I can pretend that she is still with me.