The trail meandered like a thin ribbon left discarded on the ground, beckoning Sylvie to follow. Every step took her deeper into the forest. She didn’t yet know where she was going, but she would once she got there.
As she traveled, her body became lighter and lighter until she could no longer hear the leaves crunching under her feet. Anticipation was building, nearly floating her along now. A sudden loud noise startled her. Reaching out to place her hand on a nearby tree, she turned her head just in time to witness a grouse take flight. I must have scared it from its nest. As she hurried on, thoughts turned from apprehension to her grandmother’s journal.
“Follow the path from the back of the cottage into the woods. Keep walking until your heart feels like it will burst forth from your chest. Once this happens, have a seat and it will come to you.”
Continuing around a bend she came upon a stream. As she got closer and closer, her pulse quickened until she could feel it throbbing in her neck. This was the place. She carefully chose a large moss covered rock and sat down. Attempting to slow her breathing, Sylvie inhaled for the count of four, held her breath for four more seconds, then slowly exhaled. She did this over and over.
What would it feel like? Would she know when it happened? Grandma Eve’s journal said her magic would appear in an act as simple as breathing. It was merely a matter of letting go of a small part of your old self, and receiving something new in return.
The last words she had written were: “The forest will give you what you need.”
📸whiskers of my soul