The Forgotten Art of Listening

Somewhere in a hidden wood, a garden is nestled and hidden from view. The garden’s silent haven sits quietly, calmly, as the world beyond moves in a rush of color and confusion. No human has stepped foot on the lush, soft ground since the beginning, but that’s when the realms were closer and the veil between the worlds rippled and swayed.

As man forgot, the garden closed its doors. Some say sentries guard the entrance but there’s no need. The garden will be found when the time comes for man to remember.

Ethan crossed the glade and pushed through the front door of his hut. It wasn’t much, but a Huntsman was only paid during gaming season when the elite were in the mood to impress their friends by shooting easy prey. Ethan was good at what he did but his heart was growing too soft for the hunt. More and more frequently he was turning down jobs and recommending other huntsmen for the job. As each season rolled through the valley, he could see the dwindling numbers of birds, deer, and even the wolves.

He was old now, much too old for such a life. However, he’d been too busy satisfying others to care about what he may need to satisfy himself. Widow Marsh had turned her eye towards him a time or two, but he didn’t see himself as the grey, wrinkled figure she seemed from her window. HIs bones hurt and his knees ached, but still he couldn’t bring himself to see his age as advanced as it was.

In his heart lived that of a young man. A man ready for adventure and exploration. He’d offered his service to his country for a few years but the skirmishes had been brief and his stint as a soldier fairly short. In many ways, it was a blessing their land and kingdom had seen such an extended time of peace.

HIs hut was quiet this time of evening, and he removed his boots at the door. Hanging his hat, he turned to his one room and sighed. He’d wanted so much more beyond this, yet the woods had called to him soon after he’d returned. He’d wandered the shaded paths for hours, found hidden brooks and caves. Once he’d found a small sum of money that lasted nearly two years and had allowed him to afford a few extra luxuries such as down blankets for the winter and thick woolen socks. The woods were his home, but maybe it was time to leave and find a new place to belong.

He banked the fire and ensured a wan. rmth would hold through the night, and crawled into bed. Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow he would pack and take one more adventure before the winter set in.

Morning broke cold and hazy across the valley, barely permeating through the white mist covering the glade and trees beyond. Ethan took his time making extra food to bring for the journey. He planned to be gone for three days at the most. He set out with a walking stick in one hand and rifle ove3r the other. He would still need meat for energy and old age. He hummed to himself as he maneuvered familiar paths and trails. Turning as he felt he was pulled, and not knowing where this adventure would take him. He wanted to see something he’d never seen before, perhaps a new waterfall or creature he’d not seen. If it was to be his last before his retirement, he wanted to ensure there would be stories to tell anyone who may listen.

He walked for the day, barely paying attention to where his feet were taking him. Tired with fatigue, he found sufficient shelter for the evening and built a fire. He’d snared a rabbit along the way, and it’s meat would go far in helping him through the following day. Though exhausted, he felt accomplished and as though the woods were on his side. Something felt new about this experience as compared to so many before. Perhaps the end of an adventure would lead him to the beginning of something new.

The next day, he listened to the voices of the forest. He’d grown so accustomed over the years, to tuning in to the sounds of nature, he often forgot it had a voice. Today it called him forward, called him further along his paths, but they were no longer the ones he knew.

Ethan stopped and looked around him.

In his life, he’d wandered the woods beyond his hut for days on end. He knew his woods, inside and out for up to 3 or 4 days beyond his front door. But here he was, barely a day and a half’s walk beyond his home and he had reached a point he no longer recognized. His breath caught in his throat as he turned a full circle; these woods were not his.

Slightly more cautious, he continued his journey, pausing for a moment near a river flowing swiftly out of sight beyond a bend. An idea crossed his mind but when he acknowledged it, it seemed to have been there for some time, he would never see his home or hut again. There would be no going back to the land he knew.

As though the acceptance was all that was needed, a simple gate stood a few feet away. Just a gate with two side posts holding it up, but nothing running along left or right. There appeared nothing to keep in or out. With a confidence he hadn’t known he’d had, Ethan pushed the gate open and stepped inside.

The world outside went quiet, and he now found himself in a garden unlike anything he’d ever seen. The grass was soft and plush, the trees rustled with a murmur of memories and song. Yet in the middle stood a tree, offering branches of its fruit.

Ethan stepped up and took one, biting into the crisp flesh of the pear. His world and life bey9ond the gate, evaporated like mist in the morning’s rays.

Deep in the wood, no longer reachable by man, a fruit tree sits on an illuminated hill. Sometimes it’s an apple, sometimes fig or pomegranate, but it waits to share it’s bounty when one crosses the realm from life into what comes after.