Forest of Dreams-- A Cautionary Tale
A rather somber day for May even in Thanatopsea, with a morose pall hanging from the low and ever-present clouds forecasting a coming blow, breezes of change even now forged their way across the landscape. A Barnaby squirrel nonetheless braved the harbingers of inclemency in search of whatever adventure might come his way, as well as a few morsels of vegetative sustenance. The trail he followed from his tree-base, normally well marked and situated in such a way as to invoke the recollections of countless other such trips, today held no distinguishing characteristics. It was as though he’d fallen out of his refuge in the canopy into a world he’d never seen. Oh, the ground cover was similar enough, but with none of the telltale trail forks and distinguishable assemblages of natural flotsam to which he’d become accustomed. Still, it was pleasant enough, all in all, with no lashes of cold to worry about and little danger of getting too much sun, a perfect day to explore.
Making his way through the shoots and roots, the squirrel soon realized that a clearing lay dead ahead, a crossroad of sorts, with its meadow grass and occasional wildflower. Surveying its breadth, our hero’s gaze quickly centered upon the creature lazing happily atop a soft mat of grass at the far side, at a point where the trail funneled past the river. If he was to proceed without the stealth provided by shrubs and fens he would need to be wary, for if his eyes could be trusted, the creature was a wolf, and a rather large one at that. The squirrel knew of wolves only by reputation, having never actually encountered one, but the size disparity alone heightened his senses as he crept closer and closer. Perhaps if he retained a posture as close to the ground as possible, the wolf wouldn’t see him at all and he could resume his journey once the danger had passed. Squirrel stealth ranks high amongst that of other forest denizens, a statistic that further emboldened his advance. Once within a few yards of the wolf and having noticed no perceptible movement on the part of the apex predator, the intrepid adventurer decided to up the ante and see if he could elicit a reaction.
“Chitter-chitter-chippity” he squeaked, his senses now heightened, his awareness piqued.
For his part, the wolf didn’t move except to twitch one ear ever so slightly, specifically the down-wind ear closest to the squirrel. In fact, a lesser species, a rabbit or chipmunk perhaps, might not have noticed the movement at all. But to a squirrel, the spasm screamed Danger at the top of his lungs.
Then, sitting up abruptly and facing the squirrel, the wolf chuffed and stared at the squirrel. “Do you mind if we speak in English? Your dialect taxes my vocal cords and I find your language, with its distinct lack of predicates, to be difficult. Besides, the narrator isn’t smart enough to tell this story without dialogue, so if it is to progress as anything more than a tired cliché of a parable, we need to be able to converse. What do you say, feel like giving it a shot?”
Rising onto his back legs (confident of his ability to outrun the wolf to safety should he show signs of aggression) with sangfroid aplenty, the squirrel countered (in English), “If I engage you in conversation, do you promise not to try to eat me?”
This caused the wolf to pull his lips back, baring his teeth. He meant it as a smile, of course, although an interested observer of less than two percent his mass surely might have mistaken it for an outward display of aggressive intent. Unfortunately, wolves’ anatomical limitations and habits leave their actions open to misinterpretation. “You want guarantees… from the most feared creature in the forest? Surely this must be your first adventure out of your mother’s earshot. If I were to promise, would you believe it?”
“Well,” the squirrel quipped, now trying to sound authoritative, “in my part of the forest, all the creatures are true to their word, even the wolves. Oh, they’ll eat a squirrel, certainly, if hunger dictates, but they don’t cloak their intentions in subterfuge and they’d never purposefully lie, especially when asked a question that would present a moral dilemma. So, I guess my answer would be ‘yes’.”
“You guess?” The wolf now sported a pair of Foster Grant sunglasses, making him resemble Ray Charles in a distinctly canine way.
“Well, with about 80 percent certainty, I’d say.”
“80 percent, huh? Well, now I know that I’m not talking to a total idiot, at least.” Cool as the other side of the pillow, the wolf struck a match and lit a cigarette. After a long, slow draw, he removed the cigarette from between his lips, grasping a loose piece of tobacco from his tongue, and asked, “Tell me, then, oh one of such belief in his fellow creatures, where do you think you are?”
“Who taught you to grasp something as small as a sliver of tobacco with your paw? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a member of your species who could accomplish that. You’re very talented.”
With a certain slyness, a look attributed exclusively to his species, the wolf cocked his head slightly and narrowed his eyes as he stared at his tiny inquisitor. “Yea… so I’ve been told. Now, could you kindly answer my question? You’re starting to try my patience, and trust me when I tell you that you don’t want to piss me off.”
“Sorry,” the squirrel offered, a new sense of danger reminding him that he was conversing with a wolf. “I’ve not ventured into this part of the forest on previous occasion, so I’d most appreciate it if you could enlighten me.”
Extending his chin, the cigarette dangling precariously, the wolf scratched himself absent-mindedly with his paw, giving the impression that his answer should be known to anyone with an IQ higher than a slug. “That’s a little more like it… you’re in the land of dreams.”
“The land of dreams, huh?” the squirrel chattered, “How very… useful.”
Taking several steps toward the wolf, the newly created tyrannosaur grabbed the stunned animal with his mouth, ignoring the yelps and screams of a creature being ripped asunder by teeth capable of disemboweling a grizzly bear. Flipping his head back, the thunder lizard tossed the hide onto the ground and swallowed his meal.
Then, crouching against Mr. Wolf’s tree, the extinct freak of nature licked his lips and belched… the gas leaving an ambience of wolf to pierce his olfactory senses. The thought occurred to him that perhaps an after-dinner cigarette might be nice. Soon, it would be time to proceed back into the forest.
Moral: Don’t be afraid to live your dream, just make sure you don’t get caught up in someone else’s.
Bob Church©5/18/08
