The Rustle
It was a dark layer of moonshine spread across the midnight jungle. It covered the Pines, Oaks, Elms and Orchids across the eight thousand kilometer spread jungle. Several series of rustle and crackling sound had now clenched the massive jungle with its synced movements. It was like a moving train for Sarah, she could hear it coming, wanted to board it while on the go, and get the details of the journey. With the next rustle sound octave, she was on-board and ready.
This one incoming, was more of a crescendo, almost as if it came to challenge her. She was intimidated, though, it wasn’t on her face. The stern shoulders and straight torso moved with the crescendo. This was unprecedented, the dark, cold woods couldn’t deter her movement as she was motivated by harmony more than visuals. She could feel blood in her veins, and everywhere around her. She felt extended. She felt moved. She could hear the rhythm of the forest. It was the most natural melody ever created.
The rustle was moving around her in spheres. She could map, each rustle to its position. Though, the source was unknown, it was almost as if the forest came together to create a symphony. There were flats, majors, minors, brilliant switching of pitch as well the whole symphony was stitched together in a octave.
The woods never scared her. She moved along with the sound. She was almost in the middle of the jungle now. Her own movement, carried a unique sound to it. “How is this possi..?” She thought as she realised she was herself, the middle note. She merged with the forest.
It wasn’t possible, for her to identify and become one along with the forest’s symphony and not play a part in the melody. She could hear the next incoming octave though, it was her chance to prove that the forest chose the right one. That she can’t just identify, she indeed can become one.
The movement of notes were more rapid now-and she had to become the core. The core which combines and moves the whole symphony taking it to its purpose. As the step came, she moved, made room between the trees, placed her foot firmly on the dry leaves, opened her arms and chest as if to brace the coming symphony, her eyes fixed a few feet apart from her on the ground as she took a step back, charged towards the ground with her right leg and swirled. It was complete. She became the core.
Her part, was felt by everything and everyone in the woods. It was, as if, the forest, and all forests around space-time fabric were waiting for this day. For the day, when she opens her arms and becomes one with the forest symphony. It was, as if the forest symphony lacked a core. It found a base to its existence.
The rustle carried a bright green ray as it swirled and mapped the whole of the woods, lighting up pathways, trails, edges, nests, emptied huts, bars, idols, fallen trees, broken sticks, until it merged with the fallen dried leaves as the fresh deeply rooted vegetation grew.
It grew with the same intensity the dead dried leaves rustled marking the centuries-old tradition of embarking on the journey ahead with the noise left by the ones that we have lost along the way.
