A short story — a companion to the musical composition by Julianna Waller & Carlos R Martinez.
While I was waiting for the train, I found myself looking at the forest across the tracks and whispered, “beautiful”.
But it was countered by a voice coming from the lady sitting next to me,
“some people dislike this season,” she said, “why does it take so long for it to arrive?”
“The train I asked?”
“No, no, no!” she nodded, “winter, their favorite season and why do I have to wait so long for it? -they say- It is late, very late! It should have already been here. The wonderful and cold breeze, the snow, the joy and the memories; oh, the memories that will be created. My heart, hurry please. I even heard this once, is the creator of my memories here yet?”
Noticing the puzzled look on my face she said to me,
“Interesting isn’t it? The creator of memories! You know, that which impresses the most wonderful of reveries, the most amazing of adventures, the greatest joy and the most excellent desires in the heart.”
And pointing at the forest she whispered,
“Don’t worry it will be there, it’s coming, the beloved season is on its way. I know.”
Bursting with fully expressive eyes and a smile which illuminated her fair and beautiful face she continued,
“I understand them, it is my favorite season too, when it comes it is like the finest orchestral tone poem where one phrase follows the other beautifully without missing a beat, and one becomes a witness of change, renewal. It’s impossible to miss. Nobody can. Like the dimming of lights in a theater announcing something is about to happen, the light of day becomes shorter and the clouds seems gloomier and look like they are within reach. The cold wind starts to blow but notice, it is like a chariot which carries the new season in poetically, artistically, and dramatically. It starts leaving crumbs and I find this amusing, I love it. You see, crumbs are viewed in hindsight but clues are to be seen in foresight. So, the crumbs become clues.”
Standing up, she started to move her hands as if conducting a symphony.
“Fall is one of the biggest clues and like an invisible hand it dresses the forest in the most amazing vivid colors; red, orange, yellow, all in harmony, a pallet of symphonic colors. Things come alive in the color of vintage. And, that is just the beginning. Like an artist revealing that which is hidden to its audience, it does not hold back, it is moving toward the climax . What follows is magnificent, you see, not only does it dress the forest but it starts undressing her as well. Making her bare, naked. Blush? No, there is nothing to be ashamed of. It is like when a woman’s shoulder is discovered by the slip of her blouse or her torso is being seen by her lover for the first time. It is poetic. Now the forest is stripped down to nothing, or better yet, to everything. If you think this is about the coming of winter, it is not. It is about the beauty of life itself,” she exclaimed while extending her arms as if waiting for an embrace.
“Life wants us to see it has transformed itself again in order to thrive.“
Pointing toward the forest she said,
“Winter in the forest is an ode to life. Have you seen the dance of snow falling? Its movement, its rhythm, captivating isn’t it? The magnificent red fox, the musk oxen, the arctic hare, squirrels, caribou, oh, and the mesmerizing snowy owl, all of them come out and rejoice because winter in the forest has arrived. Just when you thought there could be no life, winter will show you otherwise. Consider this, life is not a slave to anything. Winter magnifies life. When some say winter is brutal, I say winter is honest. While others suggest it is death, I say it is birth. I say it produces hope, beauty, and strength because life is within, there in the midst of the cold.”
The train was approaching and though all of us on the platform could hear the violent and dissonant sound made by the grinding of the breaks and the tracks, none took their eyes away from the forest. I could not say what everyone else was thinking; I was contemplating nature, winter, hope and life. To my realization the train had left and I was still sitting there, and next to me was the lady of beautiful factions and an interesting monologue. She was looking forward, toward the forest just like me, perhaps toward the future, or perhaps something else. She got up, put on a cute hat and started to walk toward the forest across the tracks, and as she stepped in, the leaves started to change colors and the sounds of waking life were heard from within. She turned around, looked at me with a smile and waiving her hand said,
“So long, I’m late, I must get there” …
This story is a companion to, Winter in the Forest — a musical composition by Julianna Waller & Carlos R Martinez. ©2020 All Rights Reserved