The Rapture of the Forest

*This is an extended journal entry from my time in Idaho. I journaled nearly every single day. This entry was written after a walk along the road behind the farm.*

There is a single tree on the farm which is changing colours. Bright, flaming orange, and kind of scrawny.

Sometimes I pretend the clouds are mountains.

Sometimes I imagine the world is moving below the clouds instead of them above the earth. Walking becomes a totally different experience.

As I walked down the road, I realised the raven I heard behind me was catching up. I turn around to look for it, and its calls somehow passed me by, as if made by a phantom bird. Looking up, I see the black phantom high above me, higher than I thought ravens were ever interested in flying. It floated in tight circles on thermals, quickly moving on toward the wilderness.

After finding a cold stream and a trail leading up into the mountains, I turned back. On the road, something happened. I stopped to listen to the rocks. When I did, the forest and rocks sang out for just a moment. The song was deafened in short order by one of the weightiest silences I have ever experienced.

That silence. It almost felt as if some primeval behemoth had me locked in its gaze. I couldn't move.

The Ancient approaches in the silence of the wilderness. You cannot escape. You cannot move. You can only know the Weight of the Presence.

Primeval is the best word. A great power, unknowable, older than the world. No evil intention, yet fear grips you.

A great Deep. Everything stills itself for what seems like an eternity, except the wind. The wind brings this Presence. To and fro it roams. We may not meet again for some time. You cannot search for and find the Presence; you can, however, go out to meet it. Where you meet it is not up to you.

Minutes passed, unmoving. I could have stood there for hours.

The burden grows. You realise it is real. Then it begins to fade, moving on past you. Something breaks you trance, and you realise the Presence is already gone. The dream has passed, and you have woken up. Perhaps, though, this is now the dream, and you had let reality take hold of you for just a moment; now it is gone, and you slumber peacefully, waiting for the wake-up call and that great Dread to find you once again.

Peace.