Forests. Can be interpreted in many different ways I suppose. You have your magical ones filled with whimsy and fantastical beasts, and the grim kind that you’d expect to die and go missing in. You can’t expect much from them in the real world, albeit ignoring the odd owl eerily observing you from the tree branches or the array of fungi under the logs; can you? Nothing much was going on one week. No operations, nothing exciting to try out, even the boys that would show some hint of energy were tuckered out. So I decided to take initiative for myself and go somewhere else, somewhere new. Just for the day, perhaps the ongoing week if my fascination gets reeled in enough. There was a forest nearby, none of us had really ever went there, so I wore the gear you would be expected to bring to forest-trekking and set my sights to the destination. Upon arrival, I was immediately intercepted by a sign no taller than my waist level, in front of the great green wall of trees and undergrowth. Marks that yelled of slashes and scratches were visible across the wood. It was hard to read, due to the level of elevation and the crudely messy and misspelt handwriting on the already rotting plank, almost as if the person who wrote the details was being rushed. Warning This fores has ben biwitchd by th Grand Susinists of the Hol Yor entry to ths site shal be cursd Like how most people would react to a sign stating such a superstitious warning, I took the message as the work of pranksters wanting to make a sick joke (though a horribly stupid one on their part). What wasn’t a joke was the harmonious symphony of the forest that was upon me; the crisp giggling and rustling of the scrunched fallen leaves, the delicate whistles that drift blissfully between each tree and branch, the delicately sweet song of chirps from the songbirds, complimented with the hoots of a great horned owl which played out akin to an orchestral drum. Light was shattered and arranged into beams that protrude from the treetops. Logs were seemingly arranged to create the best view, and on them were innocently petit toadstools of vermillion red and fungal orange that posed like models on the center stage. Flowers of broad variety and vivid shade stood by the path in fashionable position. It was a symphony of nature, a symphony I tell you, for both the ear and eye. Of course, I couldn’t just stand at one position for the entire day, so I made a move on. The path of flattened leaves stood out enough for me to navigate myself throughout the wood but subtle enough to not take the spotlight of the view. Trekking through the forest felt like walking through a painting, to the point where it almost felt surreally artistic. An accomplished fox then stumbled across my passage. The vulpine looked proud, and for good reason. It had caught either a wren or a rodent to eat; I couldn’t tell at the time. Upon peering up at my face for a solid five seconds, the mammal scarpered.