I am afraid I have, in the past, described an ideal life at the Hermitage, but environmentally destructive land use norms have been quickly spreading and dominating this rural area. Industrial agriculture dominates, and our land is a forested island surrounded by gigantic fields of corn and soybeans. Sullen McMansions suddenly appear on a newly clearcut hillside where a small farmhouse once stood, with the old neglected barn collapsing nearby. And locals impatiently speed down the nearby highway in oversized pickup trucks, with the accompanying rumble of tires on pavement, a distant and constant hum.
Here at the Hermitage the goal of preserving woodlands goes against the current of mainstream beliefs, and seems silly to local farmers, who kill every tree surrounding their fields, a sacrifice for maximum yield. I marvel at my sisters who still pray and meditate, who have hope that we can preserve our home here, our earth, our bodies. How to best care for the land is out of our hands. The mist of poison being regularly sprayed on the fields next to us permeates our soil and our lungs, too.
Last night a flock of children descended from above and lightly touched ground. No. They were visions of flesh, flowing in perfect synchrony with the breathing of the earth. Their complex steps were tight but lightly connected. Swimming underwater is what they were.
Dirty unkempt children. Homeless. They are hallucinations, thought I. Flowing together across the large lawn without speaking or touching, their great coordinated shadow covered what I once believed to be green grass.
They suddenly stopped their forward flow and looked up as I stood staring down at them from the high tower. Their little upturned faces were mirrors, reflecting the sky. All stood still. All was suspended in that moment.
Then, as one, the great arcing earthbeing slowly began to glide toward the trees. There it leaned into the undergrowth and stepped one by one into the darkness that the forest contains.
I, the audience, heard no sound as I studied their progression from my outpost high above the trees. Perhaps there was soft sighing as they breathed in and exhaled the cool dark borderland.
I couldn't tell. I could never be certain. I would make a terrible witness, I thought to myself, for I have never been entirely sure of what I have just seen. Was it a dream or a daydream,? Perhaps some sort of telepathy? Some other sort of critical communication? Important details fail me, and I am left to wonder.
Children I am certain, some no bigger than babies. No. Each one walked on two legs and all simultaneously moved as if a flock of birds but on terra firma, and as they moved they conjured silence. The silence was full of them.
And then they were gone.
"Ever and always," said the fairies. "Ever and always."
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