It was within the echoes of the empty forest that solace was found. Quiet breath mimicked gentle waves here. The swaying motions that accompanied breathing almost mimed the rocking of a boat if one felt themselves grow detached from their earthly bodies in just the right way. Was there truly a right way?

Gulls bob on the ocean, the white boat seeming to wish to be one itself. Waves that were colored by the sky's reflection lapped gently upon the hull. Lake breezes swept up nostrils and caused gentle sighs. Only a slight plop was heard as the fishing lure hit the water.

Was it the lure, or did an acorn hit the earth nearby? Ears pricked in that direction only could confirm it was when the pattering of little squirrel feet was heard. The clicks of their chattering barely broke the silence.

The clicks of the mast and sail echoed over the land. Bright white and tall, it stretched toward the sun and began to call out, flapping in the wind and driving the boat on. Lures great and small trailed behind the boat, strumming tightly with each time they contacted the rod.

Like the click of a woodpecker against the trunk of a tree, the flapping of a bird against the air with its wing, it all was constant and added to the echoes of the forest, not so empty as once thought.


Supposed you could compare this place to a boat on the water. It was worth the giggling, assuredly. The stag lay himself against the ground to sleep, to dream of open water and floating gulls one more time.