Forest Feet

Bare feet tip toe through the puddles on the leaf stained dirt path

Sunlight rains through pine trees, dripping onto the floor.

Greens, browns, blacks paint the scene as a nearby stream echoes in the distance.

The feet stop at the brook.

Pale, duck egg blue ripples throughout the stream, like the subtle sweep of a painter’s brush.

Water, seeping and snaking smoothly past all obstacles.

It’s velvet sound dribbles a soft hum as it hurdles over moss covered boulders.

A galaxy of dragonflies twirl above its murmuring surface and it twinkles like tinsel in the sunlight.

The feet jump from boulder to boulder, perfectly balanced on the slippery surface.

Twigs crack underneath, as they land on the soft, dirt path.

A dark green bush spikes out ahead, perfectly ripe berries, plump and purple shimmer and shine.

A hand shoots out and plucks a berry off the bush. Fingers stained a vibrant cranberry as the hand holds the small gem of delight.

The berry melts and coats the tongue with rich, sweet juice leaving just seeds.

The lips are stained the same cranberry red and the tongue is caked with a deep juicy purple.

Water drips down on the neck.

Cold and refreshing.

The sky dims and darkens now full of tumultuous, ripped and ragged clouds and rain pours down creating bigger puddles.

The feet slip, slide and scramble towards home,

stained red from the rotten berries fallen on the forest floor,

wet from the stream crashing up on the boulders,

and muddy from the dirt path that the feet follow home.

Tried, cold and miserable, they clamber up to the house and kick open the door.

A waft of warmth settles on the damp face and the bittersweet smell of a wood fire burning draws the feet in.

Home.

Darcy Monteath