Following the Night

The air burns with the scent of black mist as creatures track through the tangled forest. Soon the autumn sky will linger passionately and the sun will set on its horizon. It bleeds crimson, tears rolling down the infinite canvas. Its colours melt erratically, some kind of solemn chaos as the light hides away behind the moon. The stars appear and scream through the dancing birches, as if they were jealous of the city sky scrapers for taking away their beauty. Rigid twigs snap underfoot and the scent of pine beckons life deeper into the woodland.

But the ceilings of stars remain jealous, piercing through the dark, velvet, sky like a glimpse of intangible hope. But tonight their intangibility almost seems obtainable, as the soft breeze caresses bare skin; a cool remedy for a somber soul. Encapsulated in the abode of nature, echoes of independent fowl reverberate through the pines, rustling their tired needles with a breath of hope. Ahead stands an obtrusively long stretch of mud and rocks. It is a path that extends its grasp towards the serene horizon, as if it has no intention of ending.

Brown leaves that smell of soggy sap fall delicately along the path, swaying through the whistle of the blustery weather. They frolic slowly, without any sense of direction or guidance; a reflection of confused and sauntering footsteps. Drops of dew fall eagerly from the heavens and slide down the trunk of an old maple tree. The damp bark frowns in melancholy. It is cold and helpless, like the weary foot of a slave. It stands behind feeling rejected, but the forest begs for continuance.

The path soon splits off, and the left passageway is chosen. The soil hardens from midnight’s cold breath and the pathway lamp flickers aggressively. In the distance there is a tall wall composed of loose rocks and soft clay. They feel of sandpaper, breaking off into sheets of chalk that reek of sulphur. A bird has built its nest in the cave of the wall, weaving shoe laces and straws into his permanent dwelling. However, the barrier is soon left behind when a skunk appears, threatening its lovely perfume of putrid eggs.

The trees soon gather together for warmth, and the path is left murky. The moon is now the only guidance that remains, and it glistens off the puddles lurking between the indentations of rocks. The path then comes to an end, and crunchy gravel replaces the touch of soft sludge as the cement sidewalk is reached. The houses ahead are lit like a flame in a lantern, a welcoming scent of pumpkin and ginger lingering from the window sills. Laughter comes from inside, but drowns away with the murmurs of the wind.

The pounding of a bouncing basketball and scuffed sneakers trails along this empty street. Two young men with sweat pouring from their brows pay no mind to the peaceful serenity of the night and interrupt it with their shouts of exasperation. I turn towards the empty football stadium up the hill from the rowdy boys and step into the bright, artificial lighting on the pasture. The aroma of cut grass is masked by the gym bag filled with sweaty equipment. However, across the field sits stacks of old benches, covered in vines that wrap so intricately around them. The trailing plant feels brittle and snaps easily. With that, the journey continues down the empty field and past the intersection with the blinking champagne coloured stop lights.

Gallivanting over a sewer, a gust of wind appears from beneath and smells of fresh dryer sheets. A neighbour smiles ruthlessly as her Labrador gallops towards me like a stallion. His fur feels of wet hair that has not been combed properly or conditioned. Fingers run through the knots of his locks and I continued forward. Soon the familiar scent of curry and coriander rushes through cold veins and makes them supple again. Hastening up the cement staircase, an entrance is found. It closes and locks out the threats of the frigid air and howling wind. This is home.