Autumn Stroll

For as far back as he could remember, the woods had always been a special place for him. He was completely enamored by all that surrounded him. The looming foliage above, the colors of the forest floor during the cooling months of autumn, the smell of decay lingering in the air, or the echoing call of the ducks as they flew somewhere warmer, announcing the approach of winter.

And today had been no different.

He had been wandering the entire day. Shuffling his feet along the paths that weaved behind his house. Kicking up dirt and loose pebbles as he went. Earlier in the day, when the sun had still been hanging high overhead, he darted in and out of the shadows, trying to avoid the channels of lights that had broken through the canopy - staying hidden from the blue sky above. Most of the time he could just walk between them, but sometimes he'd have to jump - running up to the very edge before launching himself over the gap, passing through the light for just a second - avoiding it the best he could. At other points, he forgot about his game and marched down the very center of the path, with a freshly picked fern leave draped over his shoulder - most times larger than himself - tip dragging along the ground. He walked with vibrato - with purpose. Pretending that it wasn't a mere leaf in his hands, but an ancient broad sword, handed down for generations, to fight off the beasts that lived in the woods. But of course, like many of his other games and adventures, this grew old after a while and he'd discard the large stalk of fern along the side of the path, where it'd eventually be embraced once again by mother nature.

As the sun continued to set, he made sure to stop by the river. Adding some stones to the dam he had slowly been building over the years - taking his time to find the exact right pieces and place them carefully along the structure. Sure it would hold strong. When he did find the perfect stone, smooth on both sides and flattened by years of flowing water, he'd wind up and let it go - skipping across the surface until it finally broke through and was swept away by the current. If he had the time, he'd also try to look under some rocks. It was a treat when he'd see a flash of orange as he turned them over. Darting his hand down hoping to catch the culprit - making sure to never hold the lizard for long if he was fast enough - remembering that the oils on his skin could hurt it.

By the time the sun had started to set, the forest had truly begun to come alive. All around him he could hear the scurrying of tiny feet throughout the dry leaves. They were beginning to come out of their dens, looking for food - eyes adjusting to the darkness as his own began to struggle against it. Up ahead along the path he could see the evening fog beginning to roll in - hiding the ground in a thick haze - even reaching up to the sky in some parts, tangling itself among the low-hanging branches. Deep down in his chest he could feel his nerves getting the better of him. He imagined creatures looking out from the dark. Ready to pounce when he wasn't paying attention. Or taking the the wrong path and venturing deeper into the woods. Becoming lost under the night sky - surrounded by a forrest teaming with activity.

But it only ever took him a simple squeeze of his hand to realize it was alright. For he'd feel the rough, callused skin of his father's palm in his own.

And he knew he was safe.