12/01/2023
Genoveva
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Genoveva
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Walking in the forest
The forest swallows you up as soon as you approach it. The branches form a gateway, behind which it is black and silent. You can suddenly breathe, your chest expands. No one meets you, as if you were in an imaginary place or a dream. But you can hear the call of the jay, you can feel the bark of the trees, which is sticky with sweet resin, you can see the patches of sky when you put your head back. Again and again the desire to blend into this picture, not to be a stranger, not an intruder who needs to be warned off. The deer lie quietly in the undergrowth. I collect pine cones, my pockets are getting heavy. The approaching evening is in every step. I don't turn back, go deeper into the forest, leave the path. I walk between the beech trees, as if through a portico, they look down on me, upright and dark. As long as I'm walking, I don't have to think, I can concentrate on my breath, on the damp smell of decomposing wood, on the mushrooms that form a witch's circle, on the dark moss that makes my steps soundless and soft...
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