The Central Conifer

A Breath Beyond: Dreams and Imaginations, Both Real and Less So

I come down the mountaintop, waking from an icy depth, and am pulled down the sheer cliff-sides by a force greater than fear, greater than gravity. I stumble upon a wooded area too perfect by far. Trees line straight paths as if placed there by a meticulous hand with too much time. Frozen grass gently parts the crisp snow, in patches and swirls, tousled about by wind, I suppose.

I raise my hand to my brow, and pull it back with surprise. Smeared drops of sweat coat the back of my glove, and I realize that I am warm, far too warm. I rid myself of my outer clothes and press forward, following one of the wide paths to what seemed to be the center of these woods. The trees around me thin; I see other paths like mine through them, and on them, travelers, all nearing the same point.

We stand, looking at each other, then at a single tree in front of us. If I try and recall its size or stature, it was not overly unusual, however, in that place, it possesses the gravity of meeting at least a lesser god. As I approach in deference, each of the other figures follow my actions. I take a knee, the forest echoed with a dozen crunching sounds. I raise my head, trembling slightly, but in curiosity, not fear, and the others join in lifting theirs. I have no desire to look away from the tree, but I know without seeing that each man had my face, my brain, was me.

As if fractured, thrown to the winds, then brought back together by inevitability, I am drawn together.

I stand then, as the wind rustles the branches around me. I step toward the tree, my arm slowly raising of its own accord, but my feet make no sound. It is no longer winter in these woods, the white is gone, and in its place golden light reflecting off beads of fresh dew on the pine’s needles. They prick my fingers, or so I think, but no pain, perhaps a tickling sensation as we reach the branches and continue walking. I feel rough bark against the back of my arms, against my limbs, pressing, but encouraging me to keep moving forward. I oblige, see the smiling faces of myself, and close my eyes.

In the forest stands a tree. A multitude within one, one within a multitude.