This area is my reward for walking through the rest of the park. It's the dark chocolate at the end of the road, the mystery and awe, the rainbow, the hush all rolled up in one river-winding, leaf-strewn path in the forest.
It used to be deserted except for my me, my father and my dog-- an Australian Shepherd named Ginger. Now my father and my dog are gone, but I feel them there in that secret refuge. Both man and dog were never quite "maintained" wither-- two wild souls who loved each other. Sometimes I walk there with my husband. He loves it, too.
Mushrooms sprout along the way. Storms attack trees and send enormous branches flying-- crossing the path.
Ah, the clearing where I watch warily. Something happened here. I know it in my bones. A gathering of witches, medicine men, an ancient circle of power. Something remains of them, too-- a faint scent of magic, a hush in the air, a dazzling silver light. I wonder if they feel me walking by, stopping to pay my respects.
My characters sometimes rise and show themselves. I ask questions. When I'm lucky, they answer.
Leaves flicker over the river, whispers rise from the ground. I smell cedar wood, crisped leaves, fresh water. I follow the familiar yet savage path through the woods of my unmaintained mind.
I can sing and dance and roar. And the ancient witches and medicine men will nod in approval.
Once I approached my section of the forest-- yes, I call it mine-- and stopped hard, hand to my heart. The sign was gone. Did that mean-- oh, horror! -- my secret forest was now going to be … maintained?
I stepped closer. A recent storm had knocked the sign to the ground.
We were safe! They hadn't discovered us yet. With joy in my heart and wings on my feet, I leaped into the place where the wild things are.
