With your wings guilded in browns and greys you glided smoothly across the forest breeze. Light pains of the wind brushed against your feathers this bitter winter but, it came much to normal now. Your wings were numb. Couldn't feel one feather at this very point. Seeing the last few leaves of autumn fall past you were gentle, delicate, floating swiftly in a premade pattern below. A bronze leaf landed perfectly onto you making you loose balance once the pins and needles kicked in. The shuffled flight of the robin soon came crashing into the cold stone. Drowning. Cold. Completely alone waiting to be eaten by hungry predators. The same as a sinking feeling known all too well. It took you down with it.

(Updated March 27th 2019)

When water remains a choice it delights. A deer chooses which foot to put in, to stay in the shallows or move into the deep. The sound of rushing waters from the eyes of stone comfort and invite play. What if some gray day the pond waters spread past their known boundaries? Though the water remains clean it covers everything. New waterfalls would appear to play in. Whirlpools would swirl and invite a spin. The hills and playground would become islands. The ruins would be posts to climb. Would the glitch that lets us fly like reindeer let's us glide on the surface. Would logs float and suddenly become surf boards? Someone's mask suddenly develops gills and fluttering pendacles like some Siamese Fighting fish unfurls in glorious ribbons of colors. The dance becomes splash dance as we sway with the water responding in kind. Floating vegetation let's you catch a ride on the currents when water play needs a rest.

Silent doth the withered leaf fall
Answering the winter's waking call
With its brethren, it leaves its home
For isn't dying better than being alone?

The stars descend from the sky
Streaming starlight as they die
Beauty they display with their last breath
For even the stars succumb to death

The ancient man stares at the sky
He has known it his entire life
Now, as he draws closer to his end
He wonders if the sky will remember him

Where once herds of deer ran playing now only a few remained. Where once laughter with friends echoed in the back of your mind a harsh hag twittered endlessly about mundane things that did not matter especially in the forest. I checked on a few deer and only angst waiting emanated from them. Something had gone wrong in the forest. Some female darkness like a bad opera had filtered in infecting dozens. It would not last but while waiting for such to dissipate I referenced from three perspectives. Playing at the pond I enjoyed the transformation from deer to frog, frog to deer. Both equally important but each has its own group. The frog plays with the fish and the lotus flower. The activities of splashing, swimming and on the bank and off the bank happen. From shore to water a new group forms dragonfly, deer and frog only around the log. On land it is different deer in different stages as in veteran deer with special markings and masks that show the length of time they have been around, or as fawns new to the game or wanting to be new to the game and then all the regular deer. Each group has a different set of references depending on which mask I chose, which age of deer, and which location my deer is at. New deer in one area, elder deer in another and just part of the crowd sometimes but not often. A deer you meet may be new but also may have been in the Endless Forest from the beginning, may have created it and some guests are not really guests. Deer can be mystic crystal revelation type, artisan deer type, gamer deer type, child deer type, player deer type, or technical creative type.

The Riddle of the Strider

All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.