The Wild
Paint your piece of the wild. Ten clearings wait along the trail, from river mist to the dawn bloom. Every clearing is a wall painted by a small crew, one piece each, one story told together.
The River Ford
in the brush a slow green river in morning mist, crossing stones worn smooth, pale light on the far bank where the forest starts again.
at the clearing a heron standing at the deepest stone like a toll keeper, silver fish holding still in the current below, a family of otters queued up on the bank waiting their turn.
underfoot one crossing stone up close with wet moss and a single left behind acorn, ripples spreading from something that just slipped under.
The Moss Cathedral
in the brush the inside of a fallen giant tree, its hollow trunk rising like a nave, morning light shafting through gaps in the bark high above.
at the clearing pews of shelf fungus in rows, a choir of wrens on a root loft mid song, ferns bowing along the aisle, green light pooling on the floor.
underfoot a snail halfway down the aisle carrying a tiny lantern of dew on its shell, moss thick as carpet around it.
The Root Market
in the brush the underside of a great oak root arching like a market hall, midday sun dappling through, stalls tucked between root pillars.
at the clearing a badger weighing acorns on a balance scale, squirrels haggling over a pile of hazelnuts, a hedgehog stall of speared berries, a magpie appraising something shiny.
underfoot a woven leaf basket in close view spilling blackberries, one bee inspecting them like a customs officer.
The Rain Shelter
in the brush an afternoon downpour silvering the forest, everything soft and gray green, rain bouncing off the canopy.
at the clearing a huge burdock leaf propped as a lean to, and packed beneath it a truce of creatures who would never share shade otherwise, fox beside rabbit, owl beside mouse, all watching the rain together.
underfoot the leaf edge dripping in close view, one late beetle sprinting for cover through the puddles.
The Berry Heist
in the brush a late afternoon bramble fortress heavy with ripe berries, golden light slanting through the thorns.
at the clearing a chipmunk crew mid operation, one dangling from a grass rope, one on lookout atop a fence post, one wheeling a leaf barrow already loaded, thorns dodged with practiced ease.
underfoot the biggest blackberry of the year in close view, one paw reaching in from the frame edge, a jay overhead about to ruin everything.
The Rope Bridge Crossing
in the brush a mossy gorge at golden hour, a waterfall thread far below, the sun catching spray in gold dust.
at the clearing an old rope and plank bridge swaying with a line of travelers, a doe stepping careful, mice riding in a tortoise passenger seat, a porcupine giving everyone room.
underfoot the first plank up close, worn smooth and carved with tally marks of safe crossings, one loose knot working itself free.
The Seed Post
in the brush a dusk meadow at the forest edge, wind moving through tall grass in long silver waves, the light going lavender.
at the clearing a dandelion post office in full dispatch, mice clerks stamping seed parcels, each seed head released to the wind with its tiny rider of a message tied in grass, swallows carrying the express routes.
underfoot one seed parachute in close view just lifting off, a ladybug clinging on as the last passenger.
The Firefly Parliament
in the brush early night in a stump hollow amphitheater, tiers of moss seats rising in the dark, the forest gone blue black around it.
at the clearing the parliament in session, hundreds of fireflies holding their lights in ordered rows, a great old glowworm presiding from the speaker bench, moths in the public gallery.
underfoot one young firefly at the podium stone, light flickering with stage fright, a cricket clerk below taking the minutes.
The Owl's Night School
in the brush deep night in a high pine, moonlight silvering the branches, the forest asleep below in layers of blue.
at the clearing an owl schoolmistress on the master branch, a row of owlets wobbling along a practice bough, one mid hop with wings out everywhere, a blackboard of scratched bark showing flight diagrams.
underfoot the smallest owlet in close view gripping the branch upside down, entirely certain this is correct.
The Great Bloom
in the brush dawn mist through the trees, the first warm light finding a hidden glade, everything holding its breath.
at the clearing the once a year flower opening in real time, petals tall as doors unfolding, every creature of the trail gathered in a quiet ring, night animals staying up late and morning birds up early to see it.
underfoot one petal edge in close view with dew running its rim, a moth and a bee sitting together on the rim like old rivals at a truce.
Lanterns still burning. Crews mid painting, spots open at the fire.
