It was a solemn day, not so much out of despair, as from a dying hope that the seeds of new would sprout in the dwindling rains of summer. They had hoped for great forests of food by now, which would bring in the birds and the insects, the eggs and the animals; a great bounty of life that the village could feast upon and thrive in.
The great clouds overhead looked down upon the villagers, in more ways than one, with their tiny beady eyes that looked skywards and pleaded them to release tears from their heavy grey bellies. But the clouds disliked these peasants, ridiculous creatures who kept trying to create life in barren lands that weren’t supposed to support it in the first place. The clouds wondered why they never thought to climb the mountain range to the east and make their home in the rich forest that was already teeming with life. But the villagers wanted this barren land to become productive as it was flat and easier to work and build on. And really, for all the promises of food and riches there were just as many promises of monsters and demons lurking in the shadows of the forest, laid down thickly in the ether by generations of suspicious flat landers.
And so the cycles of the moons and the seasons passed again and again, and the villagers grew weak and weary from hunger. Despair found a way in through the emptiness in their bellies and seemed to fill the hole with the odd comfort of familiar unease.
Sun cycles passed; the tired men became tired old men, and the tired women became pregnant with the growing sense of change in the ether, and the innocent babies grew up into curious teenagers and hopeful young adults.
After a time some of the youngsters became so fed up with the constant struggle they decided to scale the mountains and see what secrets she really held. They had been warned for years by their suspicious elders with worn bodies and broken spirits of the perils that lay in the dense woods. But their restless eyes had often scanned the forest from the perimeter, and they’d never actually seen or even heard any of these so called monsters. The elders also spoke of people that entered the mountains and never came back. The curious young minds found it ironic that not escaping the forest should cause so much fear when this barren red dirt they called home had been little more than a prison for all their years.
So finally one day the small group snuck past the gated security of their barren flat land home. Their bare feet tenderly caressed the edges of the forest floor, not so much tentative as a gentle request to enter. There was no such sense of this spirit on the flatlands, but in the dense canopy of the foothills this acknowledgement felt called for. No words needed to be spoken among the adventurers, as the forest infused them with a calm tonic of richness and nourishment. The steep incline of the mountain was chilly in the cool morning air, but up ahead golden rays of sunshine swimming thickly through misty tree tops promised a warm embrace.
As their bodies reached the mountain peak and the light of father sun kissed their cheeks their little hearts fluttered with glee, and their hands reached out for each other in a quiet shared excitement.
Steps turned into a scamper as the forest undergrowth opened out into vast rocky outcrops cuddling mountain streams, dotted thickly with bushes and trees of wild foods, berries and nuts. Dusty fingers plunged into gurgling streams, swooshed around in their freshness before scooping up handfuls of crystalline water to quench parched throats. Then awestruck by the splendour of food they reached gently into branches and bushes, plucking and picking and tasting the delicious gifts that surrounded them. The forest sung, a grand symphony of whistles and whoops of birds, the buzz of insects, the crunching of leaves under tiny animal feet, the low hum of the mountain herself purring gently with the life upon her back. And to join them, the steady rise of giggles and laughter permeated the air and the bodies of the joyful youngsters as they filled their empty bellies and hungry hearts.
They fashioned baskets of banana leaves and packed them full of these culinary treasures, to take back to the village and share what they beheld with the elders. It took the rest of the day to retrace their steps back over the peak to bestow these gifts upon the desolate flat lands they had grown up on.
Wide eyed with excited anticipation they offered their baskets overflowing with food to the villagers as they gathered in the common area for their usual bland morsel of dinner. Curious eyes sparkled with tiny diamonds of surprise as the villagers laid eyes upon the bounty. But the celebration they hoped to ignite was quickly snuffed out. The village chief seized upon the youngsters with wild eyes, sparking a wildfire of suspicion and fear throughout the rest of the people.
What evil have you brought back with you? How dare you endanger us all with this trickery, obviously the work of the devil himself!!! As if we have not suffered enough you will bring curses to this land!! I forbid you to lay foot outside of this village ever again!
And with that the chief heaved the bags of sweet delicacies and ripe nuts past the edge of the village and tossed them away in disgust.
The youngsters were devastated, not for themselves, but for the hatred that had suddenly eaten the hearts of the villagers. They knew they could not stay in this barren land any longer, and decided without words to leave again that night, for good. Before they retreated back to their homes for the last time, they quietly said, well, if you change your minds, ever, the bounty is just over that mountain peak.
Enough! We will hear no more of this nonsense! And that was all that was said, as the shadows that lay upon the villagers turned an even greyer shade of grey.
By midnight the moon had almost reached its peak in the sky, and the youngsters stole away under her delicate light. Their little feet felt into the earth, again seeking permission to enter. As it was felt they made their way to the crest once more towards their new home, marvelling at the magic of the forest in the silver glow.
The sudden crack of tree branches not far behind them sent the hair on the back of their necks bristling. Three shadowy figures approached, towering over them as they neared. Their little hearts pounded at the punishment that surely awaited them now, until a familiar voice assured them. Its ok, we don’t want to take you back; we want to join you! Our chief has gone mad from hunger. We tried to appease his decision but that stubbornness will be the end of him. Let’s go find a new home.
And nestled in amongst rivers and rocks and trees the handful of villagers created their new home, happy with each other, and quietly hoping some more of their kin might eventually decide to join them.
The seasons passed, the winter clouds returned with fresh tears to wash the forest afresh. Floating west they looked down upon the barren flatlands, and the pile of rotten fruit and nuts laid to waste upon the village fringe. They chuckled at the stupidity of the villagers, throwing away all that good food while their bodies wasted away. They were laughing so hard in fact they began to cry, and a downpour of tears drenched the pile of seeds turning it into a great pile of mulch. They cried until their bellies hurt from laughter before recomposing themselves and heading on.
Upon the next moon the chief was doing his usual inspection of the village perimeter, ensuring nothing was out of place. And something caught his eye. A fresh green sprout had burst through from the pile of rotten filth the youngsters had brought with them. A sudden bubble of elation fluttered in his belly but he quickly squashed it with anger. Curses! He muttered as he pulled the sprout out and threw it away. Then he stomped over to where it lay and squished it into the rocky ground to make sure it knew he meant business. His eyes quickly scanned the village to ensure no one had seen him, and he decided this area should be avoided from now on.
After another moon, more sprouts had grown, with some already sending out leaves, flowers and seeds. Every now and then a villager would notice something growing, and sneak over to pluck at a nut or a fruit or a flower, then stuff it in their mouth and steal back to their home quickly so as not to be seen. And as time passed, more and more villagers would notice the life growing from the rotting pile, and secretly pick at the delicious array of life that was beginning to bloom. And always they would eat in such a hurry so as not to be caught, that they would drop a few seeds here and there as they ran back into their homes.
And as more seasons passed the pile had grown to a small forest on the edge of the village. And the little seeds the villagers had dropped also began to sprout, so that after a time little trails of green started to grow between the forest and the villagers’ homes.
The people had started to grow stronger, and their greyness had started to find some colour, but still no one said a word for fear of getting caught by the chief. And yet the secret could not be hidden any more, as they were soon living under the canopy of a bountiful forest, thick with fruit trees and bushes, and food hedges branched out to their homes.
After some sun cycles the youngsters from the mountains thought they should go back and see how their kin were, as none had come to join them. They realised it had been quite some time since they had seen their barren old home, as they began the treck back over the mountain.
To their delight and amazement the place was barely recognisable! It was teeming with life. Birds and insects and animals had come to dwell in the fresh new forest. The joyous youngsters ran to the village to greet their old tribe, who now seemed to have a renewed bounce in their step and a rosy sheen to their cheeks.
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All except one that is.
He who had cast off their feast of offerings.
He whose house was the only one that did not boast a hedge of food leading from the door to the forest. Not so much as a sprout rose from the dry red dirt.
He who had let not a morsel of the sinful nuts or fruits pass his wretched lips.
He who was so afraid of the riches he had quietly starved to death while no one was watching.
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His cadaver lay on the dirt floor of him home right where he had fallen 6 moons earlier. The rest of the village was too afraid to move him lest his angry spirit unleash it’s vengeance upon their sins. His flesh had become a feast for the newly settled wildlife. And from the place beneath his ribs where his heart had laboured to pump crusty blood through bitter veins, a single white flower emerged and reared its head towards the sunlight in the window.
And though he was missed, in his wake the village thrived. Villagers both young and old began to travel between the flatlands and the mountains. The youngsters taught the old folk how to listen and ask for permission and give thanks with their bare feet. And the old folk with new found strength shared stories and myths of creation that had been shared by their own elders many suns earlier.
And the clouds, dense and pregnant with tears in the sky watched the circles of the village grow, a circle of green in the red flat lands, a circle of red in the green mountain range. And they happily spilled their tears on both sides of the summit now the villagers had come to their senses and accepted the true gifts of life.
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Written by Tjoni Johansen
A message from Wollumbin in NSW
Copyright 2017 all rights reserved
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