Wandering The Old Wood

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It was early morning at the height of spring, the forest was glimmering emerald with new growth and the heady scent of blooming flowers perfumed the air. The wind blew through the trees making the branches sway and the leaves rustle with a noise akin to the crashing tide upon the distant seashore. It was a beautiful day for wandering the winding paths that meandered through the old forest, to smell the jewel-like flowers and listen to the trilling song of the birds as they flitted from proud oak to slender birch to stately rowan. He walked slowly down the faint trail, drinking in the vibrant, riotous explosion of life that always accompanied spring as the world awoke from winter’s slumber. The Old Forest really was the best place to take his morning walks, far away from any other living soul. It was often the only place he could find peace and quiet or privacy. It was a shame that so few people entered these woods, they had always held a special quality for him, always making him feel welcome. It was silly perhaps, but coming here often felt like coming home. Then again, the fewer people that came here the more he could enjoy the forest’s unsullied beauty and virgin paths, wandered only by the occasional deer. The people who lived near the forest were a superstitious lot, it was why very few of the locals walked in the woods. They believed in a lot of nonsense about ghosts and spirits escort avcılar and nymphs in the old forest, lying in wait for the unwary traveller, waiting to steal their souls or trick them to their deaths. Tales of goblins and ghouls were far from his mind today as he wandered without any real purpose in mind. He would return to the village later, for now he was simply soaking in the serenity of nature. Unfortunately his solitude would not last much longer. At first he paid no heed to the noise, thinking it to be little more than the sighing of the wind through the trees, but as he walked on the noise grew louder and more distinct. A gentle song on the breeze, a faint voice drifting on the ether. He couldn’t make out the words, but the song seemed to call to him. It was the voice of a young woman and the song seemed to hold promise, a deep longing that set an ache in his heart. He turned off the path, his pace quickened as he followed the faint singing of that pure, musical voice. The song was beautiful but alien, it seemed to contain the sighing of the wind and the rustle of the leaves, deep aching longing merged with the joy of the sun shining bright and hot on emerald leaves, the slow contentment of roots burrowing deep into the rich earth, the patient slumber of winter and the frantic ecstasy of spring’s awakening. He pushed by leaves and skirted brambles and thorny escort bahcesehir bushes, the song getting louder and clearer the closer he got. All thought was gone, only the desire to see who could sing a song such as that! He didn’t know how long or how far he had walked, dream-like, in search of that perfect voice but he snapped awake in an ancient part of the wood, deep in its heart and far away from any recognisable landmark. Emptiness filled him, tears stung his eyes. The wood was silent. The song was gone. Without that heavenly voice the woods seemed dark and dull, the birdsong raucous and uncouth instead of pleasant and uplifting. He stood, trembling, wiping the tears of despair from his eyes, utterly lost within the deep wood. He was about to turn around and try to find his way back when another noise caught his ear. A soft sigh, gentle as the breeze, coming from just up ahead. A feminine sound that held a faint echo of the voice’s ethereal beauty. Curiosity compelled him forwards, if he could no longer listen to the song perhaps he could yet find the singer. He crept forward slowly, silently, pushing aside the branches of the bushes in front of him. He gasped softly at the unexpected sight before him. It was a wide clearing, the grass was verdant and lush and the area was carpeted by small jewel-like flowers in a thousand colours, their sweet, heady scent perfuming beylikdüzü escort the air. Some of the bushes around the edge of the clearing were laden with fruit. Blueberries hung fat and juicy, glimmering a dark blue reminiscent of lapis lazuli. Strawberries hung like small rubies, so succulent-looking that he could almost taste them on his tongue. There were other berries as well – blackcurrants, raspberries and plums. How they were ripe now in spring when they should not have been until the height of summer was a mystery to him but all other thoughts vanished when he saw the singer, for he was certain it was she. She was laying besides a perfectly circular pool of crystal-clear water, so deep that it faded from blue to purple to an all-consuming black the deeper it went. The pool was shaded by the boughs of an immense cherry tree, obviously ancient, its branches spread out as if to shield the clearing and protect her privacy, its roots drinking deeply from the pool. She was a girl seemingly to have only just come into her full womanhood and she was entirely naked. Her long red hair pooled around her head like a halo of living flame. Her breasts were round and full, easily large enough to fit into his hands, her nipples prominent against dusky areolae, dark and erect, jutting into the air. Her body was slender, her skin tanned to a light gold. Her hips flared wide in smooth soft curves. Her legs were long and smooth, her feet digging into the soft loam, she seemed to sigh again when she smelt the rich scent of the earth. He could not see between her legs at this angle, she was laying on her back and he was facing her side-on.

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