A Shelter In Between Storms

Downtrodden and weary, boots dragging across the murk of the valley floor. Face down, nose low and close to the ground we could almost kiss our own feet. Yet, over the crescent of our eyebrows a gentle shape beckons us forth. Heart heavy, clothes soggy from the downpour, the fog never lifting. An oppressive weight bearing down upon us. Causing us to sink further into the ground. Yet, gentle whispers accompany us. Like a thread needling the path before us. An ethereal rope anchoring us to hope. Pulling us in as the storms push us down. As the flood water rises it never reaches beyond our knees yet the threat of drowning an ever present danger. Throats parched from this arduous journey but the dark waters around us ever foreboding. It is tempting to reach for a mouthful but this brand of poison may prove to be merely more nightmare fuel. There’s a sad beauty in this danger we are in. Lone strangers out in the open. Free to be ravaged by the storms closing in the valley floor. Yet, the drops remain steady and heavy but never seem to increase in cadence. The wind boisterous sending forth what feels like a thousand tiny hands yanking us backwards. We keep pushing on though. One weary step after the other. Funny enough, as we trudge forth, the whispers rise and fall and for brief moments seem to disappear completely. Dead Silence. Chaos rising, sky falling. Panicking, we are paralysed with fear. Then, they are back again. Finding our strength we push forward as we find our bearing. Finally, we make it across the front stoop of the lonely house at the bottom of the valley. Strangely, the rain drops ease up as the whispers fade away. We make it across the front door and stumble over the threshold into safety.

...as we trudge forth, whispers rise and fall and for brief moments seem to disappear completely. Dead Silence. Chaos rising, sky falling.

Hugging the dry floors, cheeks pressed against the warmth of the wooden floors. Reprieve, relief sets in as hunger rises. At first gnawing from the base of our stomach then slowly commanding us to our feet. A clean sweep of the house reveals a table well set. Running water and a concoction brewing over the gentle embers of a welcoming fire. As the aroma of the meal enrobes us, we disrobe, find our way to the bath seemingly prepared for us weary travellers. After a fresh change of clothes the bubbling broth beckons. After a serving or two and our hunger sated we drift off into an uneasy sleep. Comforted by the warm shelter, haunted by dreams of the nightmares that await beyond. The gentle whispers that drew us in have now returned, turned into the incessant mumbling that pushes us on. The journey is inevitable. We must go on. Adventures were supposed to be exciting. This one fills us with dread. Simply resolving to do what has to be done because it has to be done. Not because its pleasurable or enjoyable but because it is right and just. A necessary quest. Bottled refilled with the broth, shoes dried out by the glow of the embers we re-embark on our journey.

Even as the valley shelter fades into the distance, mercifully the rain seems to have ceased. However, a thick fog rolls through swallowing it whole. As if to erase it not only from existence but from memory. Always but a few cliques behind us as we push forth. The marsh of the open valley floor takes a bow and ushers in a thick forest. A choir of trees that stretch into the heavens. Greeting us with an eerie melody as the bark, leaves and branches rustle in a cold breeze. As we push forth the forest not only dwarfs us, it swallows us whole. The heavy forest air invades our lungs filling us with dread. Almost suffocating yet oddly allowing brief breezes of fresh air to squeeze through. Punishing. Our lungs heave as we trudge on. Footsteps disappearing in the undergrowth guaranteeing we can never retrace our steps. Deeper and deeper we push into the forest. Shadows that cling to the trees observing us intently. Perhaps toying with us ready to swoop in at the last moment when our strength gives out. Yet, we persevere. An unusual marathon. One where all that matters is endurance. We cannot outpace shadows. We can however outlast the horrors contained therein. However, our fear seems to be outpacing us. Then we remember the bottled broth. A quick sip. Warmth envelopes us. A gentle caress that picks us up and pushes us back on track. The darkness does not dissipate. It grows more menacing. The shadows congregate plotting our demise. We push forth uncertain as to whether we are walking into a trap. Yet, our feet seem planted on firm ground. Almost as if on their own volition they keep a steady march. As if our steps are ordered. Knowing which rocks to avoid, where to find firm ground and what to skip over. Then the sky fades completely as darkness falls. An oppressive weight attempting to shackle us to the forest floor.

Deeper and deeper we push into the forest. The shadows that cling to the trees observing us intently. Perhaps toying with us ready to swoop in at the last moment when our strength gives out.

Cuts on our knees and hands as we crawl on all fours. Yet, we are still breathing. The coldness of death draws in. A wet blanket embalming us where we lay. Taunting us, waiting for the perfect moment to draw blood. Yet, the final blow never comes. Something, someone is keeping it at bay. The whispers start over again. Beckoning us forth. That invisible string that is tied to our sanity. Roping us in. In the distance, the shape of yet another shelter takes form. Vaguely resembling the last. Strange magic is at play here. Yet, it feels safe. Comforting even. Set in the midst of a small clearing in the thick forest it sets the stage to provide some respite for our weary soul. Slowly, we make our way towards it. The darkness nipping at our heels as we go along but never keeping up. Finally we stumble into the forest clearing as a pale moon rises over the distance. A reflection of the distant sun. No warmth but a gentle reminder that there is still warmth to be found. Somewhere. Lighting our path and arresting any dark clouds its light guides us as we make our way into the shelter. For now, a few moments of peace before we proceed with our journey.

Image credits in order of appearance:Image by Clker-Free-Vector-Images from Pixabay; Image by Colleen from Pixabay