A Place of Rest

Today…I’ve been thinking and dreaming about a forest... It’s not just a forest however, for this land used to be inhabited by elves, and those of that race that were blessed with magic had covered this place with enchantments designed to enrich the earth and create beauty and fruitful crops. In those days, they still possessed the knowledge of long lasting enchantments, so that the magic that was placed into the land in that time is still present even today, perhaps even stronger than it was before. Sadly…this knowledge has been lost now, and even those who were able to wield that type of magic have faded away into history.

The forest I’m dreaming of is very, very green. But it’s not just any green, no, on the outskirts where the trees are sparse, it is the fresh new, bright and vivid green that reminds one of newness of life and the first outburst of spring. The branches come up well over the top of my head, but you can tell that these are new trees; Trees that are marking a new era for the forest, ever expanding and displaying its power. The bright spring sun powers through the light blue sky and casts both color and shadows on the ground as I pass by, creating an intricate pattern of leaves and branches on the ground. Walking on the soft, almost silken grass through here, the sounds of a flowing stream or river drifts through the air and catches my attention, and with a small smile, I press on.

Walking farther in, the trees begin to look larger and increasingly solemn, yet welcoming. Shrubs and bushes crop up and small animals dart in and around them as I pass by, gathering their food and building their homes in this small utopia. The colors here begin to change; the bright and vivid new green color slowly being replaced by a very deep, rich, and royal color of emerald. The trees come up very high now, and begin to close off the view to the sky above. But it does not create true darkness in the forest; instead it has the effect of the dimming of a lantern. The sun comes down and hits the leaves, piercing through just enough to be able to illuminate the forest with its own deep emerald light, and so as I press on it’s as though I am walking through living color.

This color is encapsulated as I break through the dense trees into a circular clearing. The colors are nothing short of dazzling: Deep, rich emeralds, A few miniscule beams of sunlight, and wild flowers upon the ground of all different colors and varieties that look as though they have presented themselves as subjects in honor of this clearing. As well they should, for we have reached the very center of the Forest of Haerdora, the oldest part of the forest, and the origin of the Elven enchantments. 

There is a single stone resting in the center of this clearing. It’s large, two feet in diameter and two feet high, perfectly rounded and completely polished and smooth. There are symbols carved into the stone that only a wizard can read, for they are of the ancient language of Naemaric, developed by the ancient wizard Naemara, who wrought the Great Staff of Power in the first days. The inscription on the stone reads “Let Life endure here, persevered in honor, and never undone.”

Looking to the right, there is hill that climbs up beyond the clearing. The trees follow it, but there is the evidence of sunlight father up, and so I begin to climb. The climb becomes steep, but no so much as to become unpleasant. Upon reaching the top, I know that I have reached my destination. Looking out, there is break in the trees from where I climbed, and I turn around to see the entire forest laid out before me, but not so far below that it feels distant. To my right, I can see just high enough to notice the path that the river cuts through the forest, winding around and about along it’s journey. I hear the lapping and splashing sounds of the water flowing and churning along its path, almost as though it is reminding me that when I become thirsty, it shall be there. The perfect tree awaits me just a pace or two back. I have been here often enough that my back has slowly formed the bark of the tree, or perhaps I have formed to it, and it is the perfect place to rest against. I sit down, remove my pack and take from it a large Tome. Finally, in perfect relaxation, I open the book with quill in hand, and begin.

Welcome to my sanctuary, or as best as I can describe it to you. You’re welcome to visit anytime you wish, as long as you, like I, love and respect this place. There is great good here, and it is a perfect place to gather yourself, and remember what it means to be still.