🌛🌕🌜

Walk.  

Deeper into the embrace of this familiar unknown.  

Where the shadows always meet the day.  

For now, the ethereal grasp of darkness on the forest floor slips further away like a silk scarf fluttering in an August breeze.  

While the shadows retreat fully into the deep recesses of the forest.  

They are always present.  

Filling the cracks between trees or the caverns deep between the rocks.  

In this moment, the light begins to envelop the camp in which two dreamers made refuge once more.  

Their journey in this old, wild place began beyond the barbed wire fence, through the meadows filled with serenading songbirds.  

The sounds of such folly ended long ago—now a distant memory.  

Like a child entering adulthood.  

With the sun's warmth upon their once tired bodies, their eyes now open.  

Their focus is just beginning to adjust, and vision is clearing on another day in front of them.  

Their lungs fill with smells of sap, dew, and the woody pine floors below them.  

This forest has brought them strange comfort on their journey down this old logger's path.  

Today, like most days, they walk.  

Aware of the uncanny feeling of a slight resistance when their feet meet the earth, as if it were pushing them back with each step.  

Pulling them forward to continue on.  

The light continues to bend strangely when they look beyond the horizon.  

The scenery clearly changes.  

They are moving forward.

Yet this lingering feeling is ever-present, as if they've been stuck in place.  

It's not clear if their destination is upon them or beyond them. But the journey must be taken either way.  

The only solace in terms of guidance is the sound of the stream, which has also been on a journey—once a trickle.  

Over time, it now flows mightily.  

Its roaring echoes in these woods.  

Over time, filling their heads with sounds that are soothing, like that of distant TV static.  

With the pace of the stream enveloping their thoughts, they continue on.  

They make heed to beat the pace of the shadows before they touch down and creep back like that of a cresting wave rolling in.  

When darkness begins to prevail, they lay down camp.  

When coldness begins to fill their bones, it's time to build a fire.  

Its smoke is so arid, yet so warm.  

Perfect in fighting back the shadows that have been trying to make chase.  

Even in the darkest shadows, these adventurers have learned that fire is their ally.  

It is a beacon that lights.  

To illuminate that which is uncertain around them.  

It fills their bones with the necessary warmth to continue on, when the cold rattles them.  

And at times, it is shared like a gift.  

From one to the other—when you have no match, or your kindling will not take light, you need another to bring forth sparks or fan the flame.  

While the owls screech from afar, the wolves begin howling at the moon.  

The once delightful sound of the water is still present—but now being drowned out by a cacophony of crickets and cicadas.  

They often hear whispers between the trees. In the pauses of the nightly song.  

Hushed whispers while on their journey—but just a tiny bit more present at night.  

The strange whispers from the shadows are inviting.  

Once they fill your ears too often, intoxicating.  

They have been known to send the most seasoned travelers into madness.  

With questions unanswered about this journey, or how long they must embark, they begin to drift off into slumber.  

While some dream of journeys that seem endless, with adversity present. But the danger isn't nightmarish.  

The dancing of the flame keeps them connected to the day.  

Until it is replaced by the warmth of the sun once more.  

Tomorrow, they will walk again.  

As they always have.