The Gift of Sight

There was a light in the forest this morning - a glow really.

Eery pale green illuminated the top of a single tree, the ones around it unaffected, still cast in early morning shadows. Transfixed, I wanted to see more, but something held me back.

Smoke wafted up from the cigarette in my hand, its presence now forgotten. Inching closer, I realized the owl I had grown so fond of hearing every morning wasn't present.

A metallic alarm rose in the air. It sounded like something being released. Like the great doors to a lost forbidden hanger slowly began to rise. Three brief blasts were almost short enough that I may have been able to convince myself that it was merely a hallucination.

Nothing shifted. The rattling chain of an opening gate didn't echo through the hills. A horde of damned creatures didn't race from the darkness. Nothing was summoned, nothing released.

As I stared at the tree, waiting (for what, I did not know), I realized that the sound came from somewhere to its left.

Still, nothing moved as time slowly ticked by.

The stars overhead took turns blinking in and out. The moon, already asleep for the coming day, offered no guiding light or explanations.

The world burst into life as the sun rose, but the secrets of the night still lingered, shrouded in darkness.

Going about my day, my mind kept returning to the tree. It was the only willow in the area. Surrounded by cedars, the sleepy leaves and branches stood out from their neighbors. It had called to me on occasion, igniting my curiosity with a subdued sense of adventure.

With a couple of hours of sunlight left, I laced up my shoes, grabbed some water, and set out to walk to it. Somehow I felt that with the sun's presence, whatever had caused its eerie morning glow would be gone. But I carried a knife just in case.

My feet seemed to know where to go. After all, it was a straight line through the trees, up the hill, to the magnificent willow.

My sister flashed in my head, warning that the faeries wouldn't like it if I went snooping. But what did she know? Would she warn me of gnomes next? She had issued her warning over her bowl of fruit loops, the spoon big and clunky in her hand, chasing the last of the green and blue o's down.

The large, decaying willow had a ring of new, bright green grass sprouting around it. The trunk of the tree was dead, the bark scarred and tired. Parts of it had simply fallen off in oddly sized strips or were torn away as animals sought shelter in its comforting embrace.

What was odd with the scene was that the top had new growth. The limbs that hung to give the willow its signature look were bursting with new life. The fresh leaves swayed gently in the wind - which was beginning to pick up, sending the scent of blooming vegetation spiraling through the air.

I walked around the tree a couple of times, at first just admiring its beauty. Then I started looking in the new grass for animal tracks. I didn't see any pad prints or droppings. I looked for signs of human activity: still, there was nothing.

I looked through the trees surrounding it, hoping something would catch my eye and offer clues to the questions congesting my mind. But, like asking your reflection for answers outside of yourself, I found nothing.

I thought back to the last time there was rain and couldn't explain why only this section of the entire forest had a surge of miracle growth. It had been weeks since rain had graced this area.

Exasperated by what was starting to seem like a failed expedition, I walked up to the great tree. I placed my hand on its trunk and instantly recoiled. It shocked me. Like when you've been running around in socks on a cold day and coyly touch the arm of a loved one. This shock was slightly stronger, though, but just as surprising and could only be described as playful.

The static electricity hung in the air the closer I inched to the tree. Without touching it, I drew closer until my body was in its field. The buzz in the air filled my body, seizing my lungs until I started to sway woozily, like the willow's branches, unable to draw in a full breath.

I stepped back, leaving the energy field, gasping as air flooded into my chest.

What caused the noise though? I had more questions than answers with what I found in the shadows of the mystical willow.

I walked in a circle with the willow in the middle. I touched every tree I passed, gingerly placing my hands on them, prepared to feel the sharp sting I received before. A shock never came, however. Only the comfortingly familiar feel of the tree bark and the remnants of sap lingered on the tips of my fingers.

I searched the perimeter for any signs of life and found none. The further I walked away from the willow, and its clearing, the more birds I could hear. Something must have scared them off from that enchantingly green clearing.

There wasn't another house around for miles, so I hadn't just heard a faulty home security alarm. There weren't any signs of someone - or something - camping in the area. No traces lingered that could've explained the sounds I'd heard in the forest that morning.

With the light starting to dim, I didn't want to get caught in the dark alone, so I reluctantly retreated home. That night I spent most of the evening after supper on the back patio. I kept looking into the dark night, waiting to see the glow again; after all, maybe the new growth naturally illuminated under the cascading moonlight, and the noise was its own respective enigma. Maybe it all was a trick of an overactive imagination.

The glow didn't return. Nor sounds. The forest was still. Stiller than the bones of the dead.

The next morning a thick fog had settled in. It blanketed the trees and hills beyond, coating the earth in eerie silence. It blocked out the stars and moon, stealing any hope a wayward wanderer may have of finding their way.

The glow had made its appearance, the fog actually magnifying its luminosity. It looked like a distant city, long ago abandoned after someone left the lights on, casting fear and promising false opportunities into anyone passing by in the dark.

I questioned if I should go. The walk wasn't far. I knew where I was headed. My curious mammalian brain wanted to go, but my instincts held me in place. They froze my feet to the familiar wood below, grounding me in what felt like safety and warmth. But the cries to decipher the world around me screamed louder. Perhaps it was the same silent screams that lured our ancestors from their trees into the high grass marking the end of their known world.

I laced up my boots. This time I only took my knife, I had no plans to linger.

Walking through the trees the fog seemed to keep a radius around me. A simple trick of the eyes and mind, it offered neither comfort nor admonition.

I couldn't be sure, but the path today seemed more like a trail, something that was frequently traveled with clear boundaries on either side; a dusty yet well-traveled path to the unknown. The nervous anxiety in my guts made my stomach roll and my jaw clench. Or was it excitement that rose in my throat?

As I drew nearer, each step was more carefully placed than the last. I was getting closer. I questioned my plan for what I may find and concluded that I was ill-prepared for anything that may be there. Whatever magic dwelled within these trees would surely outmatch the likes of me.

After all, out here in the dark, I was only a threat to myself -even in the light I was my own greatest enemy.

The gleam was getting stronger. It vibrated in the fog, sending a warning to those who may venture too near.

Within 50 meters of the brilliant willow, sound exploded into the air. A gust of wind, perfectly coinciding with the noise -perhaps even caused by it- violently shook the trees surrounding me and I dropped to the ground.

If it was a warning it was an intimidating one. Perhaps ineffective though.

After all, it had made the same sound the day before when there weren't any witnesses, so what difference would my presence be making today?

I inched closer and closer to the clearing, ducking behind tree trunk after tree trunk, just in case prying eyes were nearby. Maybe there were faeries in the woods. If my stomach wasn't ready to eject itself I may have sneered at the thought.

Despite not having a clear reason why, I felt I wasn't supposed to be there.

I could see the baby grass at the edge of the fog. A spotlight floating above the tree illuminated the new growth, offering an observer a chance to satisfy their curiosity. The fog kept the brightest parts of the glow contained inside the ring of growth surrounding the weeping willow.

I dared not move from my hiding place. I didn't want to know what that light felt like directly on my skin. I didn't want to know who had placed it there and presumable left.

The silence was deafening.

After several moments my thighs were on fire from the position I had them crouched in. As I began to stand to stretch them out, something came from behind the tree.

It was a hazmat suit. It carried what appeared to be a container with a pump, something that might store flower food at home, hidden away in the back corner of the garage. Whatever operated the suit dutifully sprayed every inch of the baby grass. Moving in a spiral from the outer edge, it slowly walked in diminishing circles, passing closer to the tree with each turn.

I dropped to my knees, peering past the tree in front of me, my mind not quite registering what I was seeing. Could this really be a bit of passionate gardening?

I watched it approach the willow. It reached out one four-fingered gloved hand and gently caressed one of the willow's drooping branches. It gingerly ran a concealed fingertip across some of the leaves. I couldn't be sure, but it felt like an artist admiring their work.

I realized I was crawling forward, my fingers almost in the grass in front of me. I flattened myself on the ground, terrified, transfixed to the spot.

It picked the pump back up, gently spraying some of the leaves before turning to its trunk. I could see a red scanning field go up and down the willow's cracked bark as the hazmat suit's head made the same movement in tandem. It must have been the source of the scanner.

With a soft negative sounding electronic chirp, it began to pump the canister, blanketing the trunk with a thick layer of the spray within. When it was done, it took a couple of steps backward to admire the willow for a moment longer.

The trunk began to transform before my eyes - our eyes. The places where the bark had been stripped away slowly began to fold in on itself as the bark expanded and oozed over what was once missing. The limbs perked up as the trunk's strength returned and the ground gently shook as the roots beneath surged through the soil, digging in deeper, hanging on stronger than before.

Whatever was in the canister granted instant life to the ancient, once-dying willow.

Again the metallic alarm sliced through the air, making me jump and gasp. Horrified, I tucked my head in, like a child attempting to vanish beneath their blankets after a shadow streaks across their room. I heard nothing. No sounds of boots coming closer, no shuffling, no pumping of the canister.

With a ragged breath, I regained my courage and looked up, first at the dirt in front of my nose, devoid of life yet full of possibilities. I continued to look up at the fresh, bright green grass beyond where the spotlight exaggerated the newly formed green sprouts.

There were two white boots just inside the ring of growth. My eyes went up the suit and stared into the black window where its face should be. I was on my hands and knees, ready to spring up and flee, when its scanner suddenly flashed into my eyes. Coming from right below the empty window where its eyes should've been, the pixelated red light went down my face to my chin, then back up and perhaps halfway down my back. I stared into the black abyss, sweating and trembling.

In that moment, I knew no human dwelled within the confines of the suit.

The negative feedback response made me flinch and look away. When I looked back only a second later, the canister's nozzle sprayed directly in my eyes.

Screaming, I jolted upright in bed, pushing and fighting the blankets off of me. The lights around me were brilliant, and color danced across the surfaces of the room. The curtains had concentric circles on them that slowly rotated, blinking in and out like the stars. On the shelf, the titles of the books advanced and withdrew like the rise and fall of high tide. The colors of my skin pulsated as I brought my arm closer to my face, shifting shades of blue and green ascending and descending into my flesh. I looked at the blankets, at the coat thrown across the bed; these were my things, this was my room. I rubbed my eyes and looked again.

Nothing had ever looked this way before. There was a newly added level of depth. Everything was alive and breathing. Colors once invisible now danced across surfaces and played with the hard lines until they, too, danced with new life. Nothing was unaffected.

I laid back down and drew the blankets up closer to me, holding them tightly against myself. I watched the shifting patterns, and new life play their innocent games across my room for the rest of the day, not bothering to get up to eat or speak with anyone, frequently rubbing my eyes, waiting for the colors to fade, to go back to the dull normalcy I was born into.

As night grew closer and the sunlight faded away, shadows began to take over. They danced around the floor, at first tickling my peripherals and causing me to jerk swiftly to try to see them. They would no longer be there, just the patterns of life slowly making soundless music across the surfaces. It was a muted symphony of colors and patterns.

As more light faded from the world, the shadows grew bolder. They crept up the sides of my bed, their opaque appendages seeking out my skin, making me recoil when they found it. After one in particular burned a piece of exposed skin on my back, I leaped up, turning on the lamp, causing the shadows to retreat.

No doctor could properly diagnose what was wrong because they couldn't technically find anything wrong with me. Hundreds of tests and dozens of failed prescriptions later, my vision still danced with what they called the Gift of Sight. What they didn't understand was the waking nightmare my evenings had become as shadows tugged and tormented me the second they found me in the dark. They were the only things that seemed conscious of the change inside of me.

The Gift of Sight isn't for the Faint of Heart.

I returned to the willow only once. I was looking out my window at the sea of shadows that lapped at the edges of light cast across the lawn. The glow in the forest flickered on, flashing once or twice to get started before holding; a beacon in the dark.

The light, once so cold and ominous, was now warm and inviting. There were hints of orange and blues that took the shape of shooting stars, and shifting spirals swam in the signature- hue-of-life green. I knew I had to go back. In that moment, there was nothing else to do but to revisit the willow.

I grabbed a torch from the nightstand and looked at it for a while, thinking. This wouldn't keep the shadows at bay; I needed something stronger. I found my answer in the storeroom.

After slipping on my boots, I tied a lantern to my belt for the journey back to where it started. Carefully lighting the candle within, I closed its tiny door and looked at the full-size one between myself and the dark world outside.

Time to go.

Walking through the trees, taking the straight path that brought me there originally, I saw the shadows trying to creep into my radius of light. On the side opposite the lantern, they were able to slip in closer, almost touching me, almost able to pull me, a riptide threatening to drag me under. I hurried along the path, nearly stumbling a couple of times, checking the lantern feverishly, muttering to it to not go out. Not yet.

The sun was starting to rise when I arrived, but I could still see everything the willow had to offer because I'd be given the Gift of Sight. Leptocephalus; the willow's new leaves were baby eels, bursting and wiggling with life. The branches swayed peacefully, gently stroking against each other, commingling in a way only friends across time and space can.

Patterns of ancient sigils slowly moved across the tree's trunk. Simple whispers when not looked at directly, each dark brown symbol changed to wine red, growing larger, before fading into the tangle of shapes awaiting their turn, replaced by another, like a sea of shifting thoughts.

The grass around the tree danced to unheard songs, embracing their neighbors. They spiraled and waved, growing higher and higher out of the ground, chasing the sun.

The scene, one duplicated in various forms since the beginning of time, was beautiful - surreal even. Part of me knew that the trees had always looked like that - I just wasn't able to see it before. I was blind to the beauty of this reality, this truth. I stayed, watching the dance of life play along the body of the tree until the sun was high in the sky.

Mesmerized, I witnessed an eternity of wisdom surfacing and fading on the tree of life.

With life successfully bestowed to the tree, there was no reason for the strange glow and the exotic visitor to return. I never saw the glow in that part of the forest again. Birds returned to the area, spreading their joyous songs.

It was after that day I cherished my gift. I could see the colors of someone's soul and knew who they truly were before lies ever left their lips. My sister's soft yellow hue of innocence slowly faded over the years to be replaced with a blue that spoke of deep wisdom.

I saw nature the way it was intended to be seen. Everything was fresh, containing a life force that never stopped shifting and flowing. The shadows were the only things that took on a malicious life of their own. They'd cover the life beneath them, leaving it untouched but blocking out their light and any promises they held until the shadows retreated to the coming light.

When my sister died, too early and young, in the hospital, I watched her energy leave her body in a tiny ball of shifting light that flew out of her mouth. It hovered nearby, observing, casting a radiant, bright green hue around the room. When it finally jetted out, the shadows crept in, and I excused myself before I could see what they wanted.

The Gift of Sight isn't for the faint of heart; it's a gift hesitantly received and lovingly kept until the shadows can finally creep back in.