These are my woods. I don’t know who owns them. Maybe nobody does, or maybe someone far away. It doesn’t matter. They're mine.
I can hear a thousand conversations, at past the edge of everyone else’s hearing. The birds that haven’t flown south are chirping, the squirrels not hibernating are chittering. The trees creak in the wind. And if you listen very, very carefully, you can almost hear the sound of the falling snow.
Everyone says I’m too quiet. Maybe in the city, that’s true. In the middle of Canterlot High, with all its bustle and commotion, it’s hard to hear me. But then you could never hear the sound of snowfall in the little copse behind the school. The bells are ringing, the other kids are yelling, the old heaters clank.
I like the quiet, though. If I spoke up louder, maybe I wouldn’t be able to hear the chorus of voices that fill up these woods. Imagine blundering through the forest, crushing the tunnels the mice worked so hard to make. If I scare the birds away, maybe they won’t find food tonight. So I think I will stay quiet.
In a way, I am the forest to my friends. They all learned how to listen to me, and that means they’re all very good listeners. Maybe they can’t hear bird calls yet, but that’s okay. These woods aren’t going anywhere. I’ll be here, listening. I can wait.
If I brought some of my more rambunctious friends out here, I think they’d have a good time. They would yell and chase each other, the way the squirrels do in spring. I’d probably get hit with a snowball or two by mistake, intended for someone else. I wouldn’t mind, though. It’s nice to see my friends have fun. But that’s not why I’m here.
I’m here with my closest friend, the only one who can really appreciate the woods the way I do. Or maybe she just appreciates the way I appreciate them, sometimes it’s hard to say. She’s walking along side me, boots crunching against the new fallen snow. She’s doing her best to tread as lightly as I do, but quiet doesn’t come easily to her.
When she walks into a room, all eyes are on her. She’s beautiful, even if she doesn’t always see it. But more than that, she’s a presence. The world listens when she talks. When I talk, the world strains to hear me. And sometimes that means I tread softly, so as not to drown myself out.
She isn’t dressed properly, I can tell. Her boots would look perfect at a very loud concert, but the snow is slowly soaking into them. Her trademark leather jacket looks as good as ever, but it’s doing little to keep the bite out of the wind. But she’s stubborn. She won’t head back until I do.
This is not where she would choose to spend an evening. But she’s here anyway, and not just because she didn’t have anything better to do. The rest of the girls are in the old barn, drinking hot apple cider. She chose to be here with me.
She keeps raising a hand, or uttering half the first syllable of a word, but not quite getting there. It’s okay. I can wait.
Up ahead, an ermine dashes across the deer trail we’re following through the woods. It stops when it sees me, nose twitching in the cool air. In its pure white coat it’s almost invisible, and my companion doesn’t even notice it. I smile, wishing it happy hunting and safe travels. It looks confused at first, as all creatures do when I talk to them. But it nods, scampering away in search of one last snack for the night.
I look over at my companion for the evening. She was looking at me, and when I turn she quickly looks away, pretending to be scanning the trees we’re walking past. I giggle silently, my breath leaving my mouth as quick puffs of condensation. She's definitely blushing.
She doesn’t know where we’re going, but I do. Sort of. The woods look different in the failing light, and it’s very easy to get turned around. But I’m not too worried. Even if we can’t find the place I want to show her, I’ll find somewhere new instead.
I’m not worried about finding our way back. Even with the light snowfall we’re getting, there’s no way our tracks will be covered. I could also just ask a passing sparrow for directions. It’s a little hard for me to translate “car” into Nuthatch, but they’ve always helped before. There’s no reason to be afraid of the woods, not for me. Not this forest full of friendly furry faces.
Once upon a time these woods were my only sanctuary. The less said about my time at school back then the better. Especially since I can see the regret in my companion’s eyes every time they’re mentioned. No matter how many times I tell her she’s forgiven, she always looks guilty.
These woods didn’t have fashion magazines or high school bullies. There weren’t dead-end hallways or janitors’ closets. The trees still talked to me, though. Whispering leaves sang to me as the wind passed through full branches, gentle creaks murmured as I weaved through stand after stand.
On my worst days I wished that I could be a tree. I’d unfold my branches high and wide, sheltering all the little critters in my boughs and roots. A woodpecker would make their home in my trunk, and I wouldn’t mind.
But those times are past, and I’m glad for that. Nobody is bulling me anymore, and now I can come out here where I just want to relax. Now this place is somewhere I can take my friends.
The path up ahead looks familiar. A birch split into two trunks, twisting around each other towards the colouring sky. We’re on the right path. I speed up a little, my enthusiasm getting the better of me. I can see the clearing in the trees up ahead. My companion does her best to keep pace, but her boots are clearly giving her trouble.
Lucky for her, we’re here!
A frozen lake stretches out before us, identifiable only by its lack of trees. The snow covers the ice in a pure, undisturbed sheet of white. Sooner or later some curious deer or tired bird would land and scuff up the snow, but for now it was perfect.
Nearby, a fallen log sat covered in a thin layer of snow. I brush it off with my mittens and take a seat. I pat the spot next to me for her to sit as well. She looks confused and opens her mouth as if to say something. But nothing comes. The silence of the forest is too powerful for her to overcome. But I can wait.
From my pack I withdraw what I have been looking forward to all night. I certainly don’t mind the cold, but there is nothing quite like a hot cocoa in the middle of the winter. I pour half the thermos into a mug and pass it to my left. She takes it carefully, wrapping what must be freezing hands around it.
I pour my own mug of cocoa, closing my eyes to inhale the rich scent. It’s almost overpowering, drowning out the crisp cold air in an instant. The steam rolls off the mug, dancing toward the sky in the light breeze. I watch as an errant snowflake fell in, melting and dissolving in an instant.
I blow gently across the surface of the cocoa, steam darting away from me and out toward the lake. Then I turn to my friend and offered my glass to toast. I think once again that she might say something, but she just smiles. The dull clack of plastic on plastic echoes across the lake, a strange artificial sound against the natural backdrop.
We take a sip together, managing to not quite burn our tongues. The rich chocolate warms me up in an instant, like someone has lit a fire inside me. I take another greedy sip, unable to pace myself. This moment could hardly get better.
And then I feel something up against my side. A very nervous-looking girl has shimmied over on the log, and was leaning up against me. Through her not-thick-enough jacket, I can feel the warmth of her. I'm glad she's not completely frozen. I smile my best reassuring smile and wrap my free arm around her. As I pull her tight, I think I hear her let out a sigh of relief.
She nestles into my arm. Slowly, carefully, she lays her head against my shoulder. I give her a squeeze and she gives me what must be a nuzzle, her cheeks cold against mine.
We watch the rest of her namesake. The sky puts on a spectacular show, yellows and reds and pinks poking through the heavy winter clouds. The lake provided a perfect vantage as the stars slowly came out, one by one. They twinkled over the now-dark forest and moonlit lake.
Then, just as I begin to worry I might have to give up, Sunset breaks the silence. She finally asks me the question I know she’s wanted to for weeks. It echoes across the silent lake like the ripples it would carry in summer.
I let it hang in the air, listening to the echoes to be sure I really heard her. Then I break my own silence, just once:
“I would love to.”
I reach over and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. Her cheeks turn even rosier than the cold had managed, and she gives me a kiss as well. I smile the biggest smile I think I’ve ever smiled, and she wraps me in a tight hug.
The moonlight guides us back through the woods, following our tracks from before. I hold my girlfriend’s hand tight in mine, and she doesn’t shiver once.
Author's Note
These woods are lovely, dark and deep
But I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep
Miles to go before I sleep
Robert Frost, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
