Earthen serenity
She dreams of smoke
Several large snowflakes had already landed and melted on her tiny nose when she realized it was snowing. Heavy snow. The trail would disappear soon, and she would be even more lost.
The silence of a spruce forest in winter makes even birds pause and reflect. Margo hurried back along the trail as fast as she could. She held her breath for some reason. To keep the silence going? She finally had to breathe and her lungs hurt and her legs hurt and her hands were hot in the wet mittens. She looked up at the pointy spruce tops. No birds. Just white flakes zigzagging down along an invisible ski slope.
It is day three, Margo thought to herself, as she added pure snow to her half-empty water bottle. She was no longer angry. It was clear she had made a stupid mistake and that’s why she was lost. She was also no longer worried. A sort of earthen serenity had wrapped itself around her head and guided her like a forest lighthouse.
Margo used all natural signs she could think of to keep her on a path north. Moss on tree trunks tend to grown on the north side, away from sunlight. Thicker branches point south. Ant hills face south. Slowly and steadily she hiked until the evening came and she was forced to stop.
She made a small a lean-to under a large group of twisted and hunchbacked juniper trees and crawled into her sleeping bag. Between the branches she located Orion’s Belt. The three stars. She stared at them until her eyes became heavy and she began to drift off to sleep.
She dreamt of smoke. Comforting crackling smoke of a roaring fireplace. Home. The large fireplace. The large hall. Indoor, where everything is dry and safe and warm. Behind her a voice, saying something.
Margo sat up and listened. Nothing. It had been a dream. She couldn’t sleep so she got up and ate her last piece of dried meat. She tasted the smoke and hated it as much as always. But it made her think better. She had to wait until morning. So she lay back down and didn’t feel cold. She was grateful for that, even though she didn’t understand it. Perhaps it was because there was no wind. It had stopped snowing.
She was already wading through the snow when the sun rose. Now she was cold. Her feet were tired, and cold and it was just a matter of time until the snow would melt through the fabric. She came to a small hill and paused. A trail of smoke reached her nose. She looked at her hands. Was there a piece of that cursed dried meat left in her mitten? No. The smoke was in the air!
It was north! It was home! She recognized the forest now. The ice age boulder. The old lone oak tree. The trail that split three ways before the clearing. The great house and the splatter of cottages. And no one to greet her. No footprints in the snow cover. But smoke came out of the chimney of the great house. Home.
Her sister sat frozen still, like Lot’s wife, by the roaring fireplace, wrapped in a large wool blanket. She didn’t move even though she clearly could hear Margo walk in. She stared into the flames and rocked every so slightly. The great hall was warm and the shadows danced so prettily on the walls. It was all orange and black on the walls and hints of blue through the windows. Margo stopped right by the oversized carved mantlepiece and sunk down on a chair. She did not yet notice the dried blood stains on the floor that danced like leopard spots in the flickering flames.
“The birch bark burns so well, doesn’t it? her sister said, and turned towards Margo and smiled.
Want to read more of my stuff? My sci-fi anthologies: Errante and No End Code
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