A Walk in the Woods

I am walking alone through an older forest. It is warm like a late spring day. A gentle breeze blows the curls off my neck and causes the branches of the trees to create a dappling of light and dark shapes and shadows on the ground.

As I walk, I come upon a grey squirrel. He is chattering while he inspects an acorn. He turns it around and around and seems to lift and drop it like he’s trying to assess if it’s dense enough to feed him for a day or two next winter. Suddenly, I sneeze, and the acorn flies out of his paws in one direction while he bolts up a stately oak a few hundred yards off in another direction.

I laugh to myself and breathe deeply, my exhale slowly turning to a sigh. Lost in the sweet forest smell of leaves and trees and sky, I continue wandering until I find myself coming upon a cottage. It has no fence, and it is neither big nor small. It is just right for another place in the world, the Irish countryside covered in grass so green emeralds get green eyed monsters when they see it.

The door is wide open, so after I knock and get no answer I wander inside. There is a neat wooden board table off in a corner. It has a teapot and some china cups, and there is a stack of books.

Feeling like an intruder I wander out the back door and find myself in a garden. It looks almost like it’s a Colonial herb garden. Just beyond the garden, is a lawn that looks more like the earthen floor of a forest clearing than the well-manicured greens of a golf tee. I trip. While recovering my balance, I notice there is a cup sticking out of the ground. I’ve partially dislodged it. I’m confused. It looks like it should be washed up and placed in the house on the table with the other teacups in the set.

Rather than take it inside, I notice there is a pump for water that I could use to clean it. Unfortunately, the pump was not primed, but a nice person left a jar of water. I use the jar to prime the pump. Then I wash the teacup, have a few cups of sweet spring water, and refill the jar so the next person can prime the pump. I also rinse the teacup and set it by the jar.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see an opening in the plants that leads to the cleared area. As I walk through it, I see a small pond. It’s a rock pond. Somehow, the water is recycled to flow down a mini-waterfall. There are three koi in the pond–an all-silver fish that glides smoothly, an orange fish that seems to be skittish and always darting around, and a silver fish dappled with orange and brown spots.

I walk around the pond and stumble on a path. I follow the path and mysteriously find myself at the place where I entered the forest.

I want to thank Higher Perspective for this writing prompt (http://higherperspectives.com/relational-psychology-test/). It appeared on a distant cousin’s Facebook page. What I didn’t like was the psychoanalysis of my creativity. *sighs* So I am going to respond with my responses to the psychobabble. Please enjoy.

First, whoever I am walking with is the most important person in my life. I am visibly alone. Does that mean I value no one? Does that mean I am the most important person in my life, and if so, am I self-centered? Jesus is not visibly there with me; can He still be the most important Person in my life?

The size of the squirrel is supposed to represent the size of my problems. Hmmm… Is it entirely possible that since I was using my imagination I wanted something pleasant to consider? After all, a hungry black bear isn’t likely to be a fun game that inspires creativity. (Well, maybe for Stephen King or Dean Koontz, but not me.)

Next, the size of my action is supposed to determine whether I’m passive or aggressive. I didn’t do anything but walk and sneeze. The sneeze wasn’t very big, at least not the kind you’d see in Laurel and Hardy or Abbott and Costello. Does that mean I’m neither, or does it mean I’m passive aggressive and everyone should watch out?

The size of the building, in my case a cottage, represents the size of my ambition. If that’s the case, that cottage should have been run down and uninhabitable because until I’m done with work and running the house, I’m too tired to even sleep. Oh, and the missing fence is supposed to indicate that I’m very open; that may be true, but only with people I really know well.

The fact that I had a tea set and books on the table is supposed to indicate unhappiness. Well, we all know that can’t be right. I am a card carrying book worm, a habitual nerd who refuses to go into recovery and pretend to be normal. Books are my favorite things, especially hard, real books that don’t live somewhere in the ether to be displayed on a computer screen.

The durability of the teacup I found in the garden is supposed to indicate the strength of my relationship to the person I was walking with. I’m not sure how it can tie back since I was walking alone (rather happily I might add).

The size of the body of water is supposed to represent my sex drive. I suspect this organization focuses on Freud. Freud thought everything in the universe tied back to sex. Maybe for me the koi pond was a defiant attempt to say I didn’t need a body of water in this imagination journey? Or maybe the babbling brooks in the distance were enough for me?

My level of wetness on the way home is supposed to indicate how important sex is to me. I’m not going to explore that one. I walked around the pond since I don’t like getting wet and then trying to dry like a raisin in the sun.

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