At first, she could only remember fragments of the dream - disjointed visions of pushing through young, green trees, sunlight streaking through the few gaps in the much older canopy; fragments of birdsong; her own playful, urgent curiosity.
Then, she was able to remember more of the dream upon waking - hours of walking, without purpose and without need for purpose - walking for walking’s sake, and for smelling’s and listening’s sakes, and she would sometimes wake smiling, having been filled with an intangible energy that then slowly drained throughout the day.
Soon, she began to regard her trips to the forest as “visits.”
On one such visit, as her fingers traced the edge of a poplar leaf, she suddenly knew - out of thin air - the name of her forest. She knew it as assuredly as she knew her own.
The next day, her diary entry contained one word:
Day after day mercifully ended and her eager head would find her pillow and her eager heart would find Shimmerwood. She explored further and deeper, and for eight wonderful hours each night, she would have no obligation but to cherish her fleeting time. She found she could spend her whole visit walking in a straight line and never find the edge, but she was content. Shimmerwood was her nightly respite from her daily life, and she couldn’t ask, nor ever thought to ask anything more of it.
But one night, Shimmerwood answered, nonetheless.
One night, she found someone else.
Shimmerwood is a contemporary fairy tale that follows three characters who spend their dreams there. Every night is the same, until it isn’t.
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License: Community License