by Hannah Hayes
The trees hold me tight, sheltering me from the rest of the world. Here by the dam, only nature sits with me. I hear the water lapping against the bank softly ripples petering through. Cicadas drone and click around me, and a magpie croons in the wind, a sweet melody. The bank of the dam is soft and coarse, yellow and brown sand mixing with the grass sprouts popping through.
I feel close to you here. I feel you around me, your touch in the trees, your voice in the wind, harmonising with the magpies.
When I was younger you would bring me here. We would pack the picnic basket with sandwiches and follow the dirt path from the backyard into the depths of the forest. By the water, we would eat, and you would tell stories.
‘Once upon a time, a long time ago, a girl followed a pixie down the garden path. The sprite flitted through the shrubbery and led her to a circle of mushrooms, a portal to another world.’ Grandma would say, brushing crumbs off my face, her hands lavender, gentle and smooth.
‘And then what happened?’ I would say eagerly, rubbing my dirty hands against my dress.
‘The girl watching the pixie carefully, saw how he danced around the circle three times before jumping into the middle and disappearing. Gasping, she crept closer, and closer. Following the pixie’s lead, she danced around, spinning and twirling softly, following the music of the garden. Then she took a deep breath. And jumped…’
I don’t remember what happened next in the story, for it was so long ago. Sometimes I wonder if when you died, that’s how it felt. Instead of following some voice, or going into the light, you wandered down the garden path – chasing pixies – before completing the ritual around the mushrooms. Doing a silly dance, waving your hands up and down, twirling around, your skirts moving with you. You hum a melody as you go, just before you jump through the portal to the other side. At peace with the world. Maybe you remember those days with me.
Here, now, I feel you. I see you. The kookaburra chatter and laugh like you. The leaves rustle, mimicking the sound of your skirts dancing. I look to the sky as tears fall down my face. I spot a leaf twirling to the ground, dancing with the breeze as it descends. A gust of wind comes barrelling through the forest, knocking the leaf from its path, but pushing it towards a chorus of leaves spiralling together – I let out a breath as the other leaves fall away, leaving only the original and a partner in a twirling pas des deux. They loop three times around a mushroom circle that springs up from the earth almost instantaneously, before gently falling into the middle and vanishing.
