B (8:07)
It's dark out, but somehow the light of the moon ignites a lightness within. Snow covers the ground and reflects the moon's brightness. Although it's the dark of night, you can see. Perhaps not in the same vivid way the sun affords, but the moon's light is enough to let you be a part of this nighttime world for an evening. A night like this is not to be squandered. Though bright, the night is still cold and you dress accordingly. You put on a set of wool thermals, a long sleeve shirt on top, and leggings below. How fortunate that the wool of a sheep can be crafted in such a manner that you get to borrow its warmth. The smooth wool garments settle over your skin. Your socks too, are wool, chunky and warm. Gratitude flushes through you. What a comfort to be warm on a cold night. To see in the dark by the light of a full moon, this is going to be a special outing indeed. You can feel it. You pull on a pair of thick trousers over your legs, stand and button them at the waist. Next, you pull a thick hand knit jumper over your head. You choose a hat and stuff a pair of gloves in your pocket. Before making your way toward the front door. You take your winter jacket from a nearby coat rack and slip into it. First one arm, then the other. You zip the front and as you do, you feel a familiar lump in one of the pockets. A head torch. You shouldn't need it on a night this bright, but it's nice to have just in case. Next to the door are the boots you'll wear. They look a bit like ordinary shoes, except for the bottom, which is designed to let your feet clip into a pair of cross country skis. You quietly slip out the door and gently close it behind you. Why are you being so quiet? You ponder for a moment. You are alone. After all, there is nobody to wake. With the loud shut of a door, you decide it's the night. At this hour when many are settling into their beds. Quiet feels most natural. Quiet feels calm, peaceful. On the porch are a pair of cross country skis. You pick them up along with a matching set of poles. The snow crunches underfoot as you find your way to a flat spot where you can clip in. When you find the right spot spot, you gently let the long, thin skis fall to the snow. They are cumbersome and unwieldy when they're not in use. You slip each of your hands through the wrist loop on each of the two ski poles, with the poles on either side to steady you. You align the toe clip on your boot with the binding on one of the skis. When you press down with the ball of your foot, you hear a satisfying click. You pull your knee up just a hair, just to make sure you're fully clipped in. Sure enough, the skin ski lifts from the ground. That foot is ready. You fumble with the other one for a moment before it too clicks into place. Both feet are in. Tonight the skis will be like your wings as you travel through this most bright of clear winter nights. Swift and fast. Before setting off, you look up at the moon. It's so peaceful suspended there in space, lighting the dark of the night. Thank you, moon. You think to yourself. There's some kind of marvelous magic that pervades the night. You feel a zing of anticipation. What mysteries does the forest hold on a night like this? You set off Down a trail. The snow is packed down by the traffic of others who have come before. But tonight you travel alone. Beneath you, your skis find their natural rhythm. As you reach forward. With one pole, the opposite leg slides forward over the snow. When it feels right to do so, you push down on your foot for traction. As the other leg slides forward, you find your rhythm, pushing and gliding across the snow. Push, glide, push, glide, push, glide. Your body's movements are regular and even, like a moving meditation of sorts. What a gift to travel across the snow with such ease. You can feel the night's chill on your cheeks, but your body feels warm under your layers. The trace of cold is only surface deep. You ski through a small grove of trees. Your view of the moon is fractured, partially obscured by the branches above. Some trees are naked in this season of winter, a time to hunker down and outlast the cold. Other trees stand tall, needles intact. As you glide into a clearing, the world around you brightens. The moon once again shines down on you in full. No obstructions. A perfect orb, creamy white. Up ahead, you see something trotting across the meadow. You can't quite make out what it is until it stops. You likewise come to a halt. Now you can see better. It's a fox. Its thick, bushy tail sweeps out behind it. It's magnificently beautiful. Your breath catches. You can't quite see colours in the night, the same way you can during the day. Even in the light of the moon, you wonder, is the fox red? Is it black? The color doesn't really matter. You see the fox pause to take in your presence, and then it moves on into the night, going about its business. You move on as well, skis finding their rhythm as you push and glide across the snow, glistening in the light of the moon. Your exertion is that of a brisk walk, slow enough to carry on a conversation, but fast enough to feel an energetic warmth and vigor in your body. A flush of excitement ripples through you. Push, glide, push, glide, push, glide. You are deep into your rhythm, drinking in the bright white world you're traveling through. Why don't you do this more often? Venture into the dark? You know this forest intimately, but it feels wholly different and energizing in the cloak of night. Off to your left, you hear a yip. You let yourself glide to a stop. You stand stock still, listening for more. Nothing. And then. Yes. Another yip echoes through the night. Closer this time. You scan your eyes in the direction you heard it, looking for what could have made that noise. You catch a flicker of movement and see the fox. He's looking right at you. How curious. You slowly shuffle your skis and orient yourself so you're facing the fox just as he is to you. He watches calmly, as if expecting you to do this. The moon shines down on you both, illuminating each of you for the other to better see. The fox takes a tentative step toward you, and you're not sure why, but you do the same. You both repeat this dance, taking another step toward the other. Then you're about two ski lengths away. The fox stops advancing and you stop too. You can see him clearly now. His winter coat is is lush and downy. His eyes seem curiously aware, almost as if it's you he's been looking for. And now that he's found you, he seems satisfied. He turns around, and just as you think this magical encounter is about to be over, his head swivels back to look at you. He emits a low bark, almost as if to say, are you coming? You leave the trail behind you and slowly follow him. Not wanting the noise of your skis to scare him off. You try to be as quiet as possible as you follow his path. He moves through the forest slowly, very un fox like. It's almost as if he's leading you to something you feel sure he wants you to follow. Your long skis cover up his tracks in the snow with each step. You're not worried, even if he were to dart away. Your track back to the trail is clear. On a night like this, you feel a growing sense of brightness. But it's not the moon's light. No, this is the light of fire. At first, all you see is the occasional flicker of light against a tree trunk. But as you follow the fox, you see that you're approaching a grove of of trees where a large bonfire is burning in the middle. Light from its flames dances across the pines, which rise up from the snow in a near perfect circle. How unusual. A merry chatter reaches your ears. It's all tittering and chittering, unintelligible. The fox looks back at you one more time before darting into the circle of trees. You take his gesture as an invitation to follow him in. From the edge of the circle, it looks like an uncanny hodgepodge of forest animals. There are mice scurrying around, chipmunks perched on their haunches. Even a big porcupine is scuttling to and fro by the fire. How strange to see all these animals together like this. There's a fervor to their chitter and peeping. It feels joyous. You step back for a moment. What is going on here? Is this the trick of the full moon? A friendly fox guiding you back to a grove of forest animals? As you stand there on the perimeter of the grove, the fox looks up at you from beside the fire. His slight grin does little to answer your questions. But you decide to embrace this moment of adventure. You use one of your ski poles to to poke the release lever on your skis, freeing them from your feet. Then you lean your poles up against one of the massive tree trunks and step closer to the inner circle. The trees that make up this grove are old and weathered. There's fir, pine, cedar and spruce, all growing in a near perfect circle. All uncommonly straight. The ground within the grove is bare, very much unlike the forest floor elsewhere. It's seems to be a place that's seen quite a bit of activity. You take a deep breath. Despite the strange scene in front of you, you feel a calm excitement, a trill of anticipation. Almost as if arriving at this grove of trees was the most natural climax of your cross country ski. In the dark, there was no other destination. This is where you were meant to end up. The chittering of the forest animals is reaching a fever pitch, laden with excitement. You step through the circle and all goes silent. You look down at the animals. Every set of beady eyes, every twitching whisker and every keen nose is looking up at you. Moreover, the animals are all fantastically dressed now that you're in the circle's embrace. Hello everyone, you say kindly. A cheer goes up from the crowd and the animals start scurrying about, back to their merry making, which is in full swing. Welcome, says the fox. Lovely moon, isn't it? He adds, casting his eyes skyward. You do the same. The view takes your breath away. Up above, the full moon is entirely unobstructed. How unusual to be in this big grove of trees, and yet not a single branch obscures the moon. You sigh now, feeling sure this is some kind of wonderful moon magic at work. You smile at the fox in agreement, and he gives a little bow in return. Something tugs at your pantsleeve. Why, it's the porcupine. She's dressed in a lovely red gown with a green waistband. A white apron is tied around her waist. She offers you a steaming mug of tea, which you gladly accept. She curtsies and smiles before shuffling back to the cauldron by the fire. How curious this all is. How remarkable. You draw the mug of tea up to your face. The steam from it caresses your cheeks, warming them through. When you take a sip, you're surprised to find that it's sweet. You taste herbs, berries and honey. It's delicious. Around the fire, the mice and chipmunks and other forest creatures hold hands and dance to a happy tune. You look around and see a pine marten on the guitar and an ermine on the fiddle. The ermine's long body stands erect. Its eyes are closed in the ecstasy of its own music. The foot beats of the other animals are the drumbeat of this happy little jig. And happiness is the feeling that spreads throughout the species circle. A raucous dance under the full moon. The ermine is fiddling fast as the jig reaches a crescendo. And then, with a final couple of strokes across the fiddle and a few last strums of the guitar, the song ends. A roar of merry laughter and applause rises up from the crowd. You too are laughing with them, for that spectacle was truly magnificent. Welcome, welcome. They pipe up at you. Come and enjoy the magic of the full moon. Moon. Is this magic? You ask in return. All the creatures just titter merrily at you, as if the answer is obvious. The fox, the one whose trail you followed into the grove, looks at you keenly before he speaks. The light of the full moon is a gift for all who travel through the dark. He looks to the sky, and you follow his gaze. The moon has moved slightly. It's no longer framed so perfectly by the canopies of the trees under whose branches you've been making merry. It's off center, and as such, you have a hunch that these moments of magic are limited. As if to confirm your thoughts, you see the forest animals start to tidy up the circle. Empty mugs make their way back to the lovely porcupine. Mice and moles, chipmunks and shrews all are helping each other Don scarves, hats, jackets and mittens. Attire for the cold. The fun of this full moon party must be waning. The ermine still brings his bow across the fiddle, but the tune is slow. It feels like a goodbye. You feel a flush of sadness that you've only caught the tail end of this merry little gathering. You want to stay longer, but at the same time you likewise feel tired and ready to go home. Just like the creatures around you, in the absence of movement, a slight chill has crept into your body. You look outside the circle at where you shucked your skis and feel a shiver. You don't want to venture back into the cold. Everything in your Body says it's time for bed. The fox seems to realize your predicament. He beckons you over to one of the ancient trees and gestures for you to. Why? It looks like he's asking you to touch it. You momentarily look at the tree and wonder what this is supposed to accomplish. But you acquiesce to the fox's request. You remove your mitten with one hand and slowly reach out your palm to the bark of the tree in front of you. The tree's bark is greyish brown. A couple of bright green tufts of wolf lichen cling to it gamely. Old knots and walls tell the stories of things this tree has experienced. When your palm makes contact with the tree, nothing happens. Then you feel something. It's subtle at first, but it's almost like a pulse. You close your eyes to better focus on what you're feeling. Yes, the tree feels warm and very much alive. You lean into the ancient tree's warmth. Your body feels tired and sleepy. You wish you could slump into the comfort of the tree and stay all night. Your eyelids feel sluggish, but you will them to open. What you see before you sends a thrill of wonder down your spine. Where there was once just tree bark, there is now a door. And not just any door. It's your door. Your front door. You look around for the fox, feeling a need to know if he sees it too. But when you look around, the fox is gone. So are the other woodland creatures. You are alone in the ancient grove of trees. Have all of them left this way? Seeing the doors they recognize as their own in the old trees standing sentinel over this place, you look up into the canopy of trees. Only the very edge of the full moon is visible through the tops of their branches. You don't know how you know, but you know this moment of magic connected to the full moon. And the time left for this kind of wonder is fleeting. You look back at the door again, your door, and put your hand on the knob. You close your eyes and visualize what you're going to see when you open it and step through. Sure enough, when you twist the doorknob and walk through the threshold, it's your house. Those are your houseplants. And your wood stove. Burning along merrily through the night. A warm, cozy embrace flushes over you. The sensation of coming in from the cold. You quietly shut the door behind you. Mittens and hat go in a basket by the door. You sit down by the wood stove and lean over to loosen your cross country ski boots. Each boot comes off with a gentle tug. You set them by the wood stove to dry. Then you unzip your jacket, slip one arm out, then the other, before hanging your jacket on the coat rack by the door. You check the fire before walking back to your bedroom. Crouching in front of the wood stove, you open the door and feel a flush of warmth meet your face. It feels lovely after being out in the cold for most of the night. You heft another log onto the burning coals. The door of the wood stove creaks when you close it. You turn the damper down, get up, and head for your bedroom. Inside is your bed, nicely made. A small bedside lamp glows amicably, welcoming you to bed. You pull your knit jumper over your head and shuck off your thick wool trousers. The socks go, too. When you crawl into bed, you feel a shiver of cold, but the blankets quickly do their work, capturing the warmth of your body and shrouding you in comfort. The effort of your ski adventure has left your body feeling satisfied. It's ready to rest, Ready to snap. Slip into sleep. Your mind, too, gradually quiets down. There's part of you that wants to investigate, To go open the front door and see whether it opens to the magical grove of trees or to your very own front yard. You realize the answer doesn't matter to you. Whatever happened tonight was a gift, and you decide to cherish it as such. Your mind quiets, taking a cue from your body that it's time for rest. The light of the full moon peeks through your window, caressing your cheeks. You curl deeper under the covers and feel the making feelings of a yawn swell in your chest. With a deep breath in and a slow exhale out, you gently drift off to sleep, while dreams of woodland animals dancing under the full moon play through your quiet, sleepy mind.
