A Whisper at Fontainebleau

It had been a long time since I last came here. Some of my “brothers” might find it amusing that I chose this particular place. “Back to your roots, are you? Feel like communing with nature? Finally taking off that veneer of civilisation you wear?” That is what one person in particular would say to me. But never mind. Let us keep that nuisance out of this little story.

I like going out, walking when I am not at work, trying to find some connection with life. A futile thing, when you think about it. And yet I cling to it like a moth drawn to the light of a streetlamp.

City life can be intoxicating at times. Too much noise, too much light, too many people. Outside the city, I can finally find silence, night and solitude again. Tonight, I decided to walk through Fontainebleau forest once more. What a magnificent place. I can easily understand why it has served as a muse to artists. Thanks to them, I can contemplate it by day; still, its beauty only reveals itself when it puts on its nocturnal dress. Stranger yet, the place seems to have kept something enchanted about it, even though its first guardians appear to have left long ago.

I truly felt that “magic” during my visit, as though I were being watched. Rounding an oak, I heard laughter and whispers. Of course, whenever I pretended to concentrate on them, there was no answer but silence. I carried on, putting the sounds down to my imagination. This is the first time I have ever felt anything like it here.

My wandering took me to the Belvédère des Druides. I could see the surrounding country, and what a view it was. Sitting cross-legged at my vantage point, I lost all sense of time. Then whispers interrupted my contemplation… Whispers that stopped as soon as I managed to focus. My instincts did not like being teased that way. I quickly felt in danger, unable to find a reasonable explanation for what was happening. I let out a long sigh. Either the whispers were real, or I had been spending far too much time with a certain person. They must be rubbing off on me.

After thinking it over, I realised there was no point trying to explain the phenomenon. Real or not, I decided to accept it. Perhaps it was simply part of the forest. On the way back, I heard the whispers and laughter again from time to time. I even thought I saw eyes watching me from a distance. I chose not to ignore them, but to accept the presence. My instincts settled.

At the edge of the forest, I allowed myself to listen to its sounds one last time. There was only silence. After several long minutes, I turned my eyes towards the city. My other life was calling, and the moth found itself trapped in a web once more. On the journey home, I smiled and allowed myself to hope that none of it had been only my imagination.

Moe