I knew something had changed the moment I stepped into the clearing — a hidden oasis in a desert of pine and oak.
The temperature dropped, and a quiet shiver ran across my body. Nothing happened at first. But as I stood there, wide-eyed, slack-jawed, trying to open all my senses, the forest beyond the clearing began to move as though on a slow carousel moving all around me. My boots seemed to gravitate harder into the earth as if the ground itself was reluctant to let me go.
Inside the circular opening where I stood, I was bombarded with monumental change. Seasons cycled in minutes, a kaleidoscope of colour and decay. Trees shot skyward like time-lapse rockets, withered like dying sparklers, and toppled, reclaimed by the forest floor.
Generations of wildlife scurried past in electric flashes, their lives mere particles in time. The sun and moon played celestial leapfrog across the sky. With each pass, I could feel its warmth flicker and die.
I stood transfixed, feeling the rush of time in my bones. My beard danced on my face as it grew. I knew I was ageing, but I felt compelled to stay. It was like being in a warm room with wine and my favourite music. My skin wrinkled, joints stiffening like rusted hinges. A lifetime compressing into moments, my body a fast-forward film of human decay.
