Modern Implications
As I walk farther and farther away from the path behind me, soft crunching branches beneath my feet, I feel my body thrum slightly with recognition. Deep within the trees, I cannot distinguish between the rushing of water or the wind whispering against dry leaves.
Gougane Barra speaks in tones of damp earth moss, a foreign tongue muted with the padding of pine needles. This sacred place of deep textures and breathless skies cannot possibly accept the flaws I carry with me.
I duck into a thick grove of oak trees that filter glinting gold light. The sounds of the chirping magpies are muted, and I can suddenly hear my breaths sliding deep into my chest. I bring with me all my modern implications.
Bugs settle over me and rest like a humming cloak, curious of my intrusion. I try to understand what they want to tell me. The green flakes that crawl across the trunks around me are made even louder by the dampness of their bark.
When I leave, when I return home to my clean sheets, high fructose corn syrups and impending lung cancer, the fairies will come. They will play where I am standing and invoke the world's youth in their laughter.
I sit on a rock and gaze up at the trees that stretch to impossible heights, making my head spin. I am alone.
In the end, there are only two kinds of offers spoken by this lilting voice: recognize your invasion of a place that is only meant for the enchanted or sink into the thick satin moss and let the alien beauty claim you.
Never have I wished to know more the secrets that lie beneath the rustling of leaves.
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