The forest behind my house is large. It goes, and it keeps going until it reaches the church on the top of the hill that hosts preschool on the weekdays. I used to go there for preschool on the weekdays. I remember the large bell that stood at the very top of the building, looking down on us as we entered and exited our classroom in single-file lines every day.
I used to go into the forest all the time when I was little. First, I went with my dad, as he knew how to step over thorn branches without getting pricked, and which bushes didn’t have poison ivy and were safe to walk through. He led me to raspberry bushes in the spring, showing me how to find the ripest, reddest ones that stained my fingers with their juice. Then as I grew, I got tall enough to stamp down the thorn branches on my own and could travel through the woods without the fear of poison ivy. My mom used to be scared that I would stay out too long; that it would get dark before I made it home. I always assured her that I would go home when the church’s bell rang at sundown. I could never hear it from my house, but when I went into the forest, the tolling of the bell was loud enough to know that I was still somewhere I had been before. At times it was hard to navigate through the woods. I knew my house was east, and the church was west, and I could tell which direction was which when the sun started to go down. When the sun isn’t out, it’s much more difficult to see where to go. I remember looking up on dark or cloudy days and seeing nothing but a blue-gray void interrupted by the high tree branches that created cooling shade in the summertime. I only went into the woods during the spring and summer, except for once. Now, I avoid the forest in autumn and winter.
I was seven, it was January, and it snowed. It snowed for a very long time, so long, that by the time it had melted I was ready for spring. That morning I had been greeted with the news that school had been canceled. I was overjoyed. As soon as I could, I put on my large snow pants, scratchy gloves, puffy jacket, and cramped boots. Dressed, I ran out into the still-falling snow. Everything was covered, salt had not even been laid down on the street yet. All I could see was the forever expanding cover of white that had been poured upon my entire world. After walking up and down my road, taking in the sights, I eventually turned my focus to the forest. It was barren, with large, black branches stretching out to create a cover over the snow-covered trail that my father and I had made after years of walking over it. It was beautiful, and I instantly started to make a trail of footprints leading deeper and deeper into the woods.
Looking back, I saw my house in the distance, in view due to the lack of leaves on the large trees surrounding me. It looked close compared to the rest of the forest in front of me. I thought I had gone farther. I kept going, trudging through the growing amount of snow on the ground. At times, the snowfall was thick enough I could barely see, and I felt like I wasn’t even moving. I lost track of time, and had no idea how long I had walked for. The woods started looking all the same, and as I looked back, not only was my house not in view, but there was no trail of footprints. I looked all around me, and saw nothing but the trees and the white void. The sky was a never-ending mass of falling flakes, completely different from the blue sky I was used to.
I heard shifting within the snow, and as I turned around, I saw a lone deer standing in between the cluster of trees. It was massive, with powerful hooves that carried it across the snow, and a rack of antlers that were as big as I was. It stared at me, and I stared back, its big, black eyes contrasting the white land that surrounded us. The buck had stopped when I did and I felt a kinship with this animal as we both explored the snowy, quiet, lonely woods.
Then, the buck fell. A shot rang out within the forest, shattering the peace and the deer hit the snow with the loudest thud I had ever heard. It pierced my ears more than the gunshot. The buck leaked red liquid into the white snow, more red than I had ever seen. I was reminded of the raspberries I had picked with my father the previous spring. Then, the large church bell rang, and I knew it was time to find my way home.