wewe wake up under a shady willow with a vague semblance of what wewe had dreamt.
wewe have dozed off again. And no wonder, there is a good book in your lap and your inayopendelewa songs are still crackling through your earbuds. wewe ought to replace them, they are going bad. wewe pull them out and decide to listen to nature’s muziki instead. The soft gurgle of the pond coupled with catkins rustling against each other has always been your inayopendelewa blend of sounds. Every now and again your ear is filled with the nearly undetectable buzz of a cicada humming past. wewe aren’t quite sure, but wewe think that the last bug to flitter kwa may have been a bumblebee in tafuta of a maua, ua to land upon. The springtime has brought a host of such flowers—lilac, daisy, honeysuckle, a sprinkle of nannyberry, and a dash of virginia rose add pops of color to the lawn. Beneath the mti clover and dandelion grow in dense clusters, growing zaidi sparse as they span away from the tree. Further off in the rolling field is a host of meadowsweet and steeplebush just getting ready to sprout. wewe pluck a clover and twirl it between your fingers.

A squirrel scrambles down the mti and flicks his tail at you. And when wewe go to snap a photo, he has the audacity to toss an acorn at wewe with a chitter before frantically scuttling off. For that reason, wewe preferred the rabbits.

wewe lean back against the mti and look at the sky, soon the sound of children laughing overpowers the bird calls and pond babble. Two boys fly kites shaped like dragonflies as a younger girl with blonde pigtails and a sundress blows a wingu of bubbles. She calls for the boys to come try to catch them before they pop. The boy with the red hair and dinosaur t-shirt tells her that they are too busy. The older boy with the blonde hair tells her to ask Katie. Sooner au later she’d invite a friend over to help her catch butterflies as she does every Saturday afternoon. But until then she could use some company, so wewe offer to jiunge her. She smiles cheerfully and tells wewe that her name is Louisiana-Piper. wewe tell her yours and say that you’ve never met a girl named Louisiana before. She giggles and hands wewe a bubble wand, instructing wewe on how to use it. wewe keep her entertained until Katie arrives. Just as wewe start to leave, they ask wewe to help them catch butterfly, kipepeo that has flown out of reach. wewe lose track of time. Eventually the blonde boy, who wewe have come to know is her brother, Parker, calls her to follow him home. Faintly, wewe miss being that young.

wewe pick up your book and watch a sneeze of dandelion seeds take to the air. They coast lazily about, seeking good places to land. wewe mark your page and tuck it safely away in your bag. It is nearly eight thirty but it still not quite dark yet, the days are growing longer and wewe know now that spring is fading away. wewe will miss it of course, but the summer solstice has its own glories that wewe enjoy almost as strongly as vernal ones.

wewe stretch your arms and decide that your time at the park is done for the day. wewe walk nyumbani with the twilight in its sekunde stage. There is a deep blue in the sky, pushing the colors of the sunset down. A few clouds cluster near the drooping sun as a few stars pop into view. wewe feel bad because your parents are probably worried, wewe always seem to spend too much time at the park and arrive nyumbani when there’s zaidi navy in the sky than oranges and golds.

When wewe get nyumbani wewe see your mother and her friend just beginning to fold up a picnic blanket. Fleetingly, wewe wonder why they didn’t accompany wewe to the park, the scenery over there was much zaidi suitable for an outdoor lunch. Your neighbor is also packing away his maji ya limau, lemonade stand, he offers wewe a cup. Deciding that it would be a nice way to end a fine May evening, wewe flip him a quarter and take a cup. wewe watch the sun dip completely below the horizon as sugary citrus explodes on your tongue. As the neighbor kid retreats into his house—no doubt rushed kwa his father calling him a fourth time—you wander into your back yard. A week au so from now, fireflies will dance in between butterfly, kipepeo bushes and garden gnomes. wewe think that wewe might catch a few if wewe find the time, but wewe have promised your father that wewe would help put up some summer décor. Your grandmother has been particularly adamant about trying something she’d seen on Pinterest. She has been asking your father to save small jars and bottles so that wewe can make strings of lights of them. She tells him that your grandfather has a knack for such things and can help put it together. Though wewe don’t fancy actually putting the lights up, wewe think that they will add a nice, almost rural, touch to the yard. wewe finish your lemonade. Though the night is early, wewe can hear the yip of a coyote.

wewe look towards the forest just beyond your backyard. Windchimes tinkle behind you, somehow coaxing wewe to recall the days when wewe would chase fae and sing with elves. The days when wewe would swim with nixies in the pond and catch glimpses of unicorns in the sunrays that filtered between the leaves. The days when faeries awakened when flowers opened their petals. Just like that wewe remember your dream in full.
Suddenly it doesn’t feel like a dream at all.
wewe look at your hand expecting to see a rope bracelet.

***

wewe leave your bedroom window open with the curtains billowing and casting shadows, the night time has never bothered you. Some people are jarred kwa the concept of a forest looming in the background, they think that an open window is an invitation for the shadows to crawl in and wreak havoc. wewe can understand how that would be daunting for some, the forest is a host of odd noises and weird night creatures—uncanny foils to their morning counterparts. But wewe are used to them all.
In fact wewe couldn’t imagine a night without such sounds.
They have lulled wewe to sleep since your coloring book days.

wewe listen to the distant night calls until wewe are almost asleep and just on the brink of a dream. wewe hear a tapping at the window, it doesn’t set in right away that the tapping is not the beginning of a new dream. The tapping persists, but your visitor doesn’t invite itself in just yet. Though pale green fingers curl around the frame, and when wewe come to full wakefulness wewe catch, on the tip of each finger, the teeniest emeralds glistening under the moonlight. The fingers drum against the pane again. Perhaps this is what many fear. But wewe don’t, wewe go to the window as if answering the call of an old companion. The half-imp, half-dryad looks at wewe with eyes of gold, his mossy hair flutters like the curtains. His wings twitter frantically, during their upstrokes they onyesha a gossamer mizeituni, mzeituni color and beating down they display yellower hues. He looks like a siku rising faery and wewe wonder what he is doing up so late. He drifts away from your window and wewe decide that such is your cue to follow.

wewe consider that wewe are in fact in a dream, that wewe must not have realized that wewe fell asleep. That makes it easier to grab your iPod and slip through the window. The moon is in a late waxing phase, the mwezi will end with a full moon. Under its light wewe can see the sparkle of dew drops, they wet the soles of your bare feet. The cricket chirps are a lot clearer now, there is a choir of them but wewe can’t decipher the lyrics. Every now and again a mti frog au two will chime in. wewe breathe in the night air; it is fresh, mostly. Mixed in with the damp smell of old leaves is something zaidi acidic. Just at the border of your yard, where the nyasi begins to grow taller and intermingles with clusters of rye, wewe spot small twinkles of light. At first wewe think that they might be fireflies, but it is still too early in the mwaka for that. Even if it wasn’t, these tiny orbs glow teal. A long time zamani when wewe still sat on grandmother’s lap, listening to her sing lullabies wewe heard a story. It was a fairy tale that had been passed down for generations, from here is where wewe know what those softly luminescent orbs are.
Despite the stories wewe trek up to the tiny wisps. Once upon a time, in a story far away, these creatures were malevolent, leading the unsuspecting into traitorous parts of the forest. But like most of the faefolk, they have mellowed. There are no zaidi forlorn creatures and no zaidi Enchanted beings, no light nor dark; Ogre and elf, troll and pixie, vampire and stayer, they just want to stay alive and vibrant. wewe hear the windchimes jingle on your patio again. The will-o-wisps buzz around, zipping towards the mti line. The imp-dryad seats himself upon one of the wisps and eyes wewe just as curiously as wewe eye him. It must have been centuries since a human older than twelve has acknowledged him au a being like him. Curious indeed.
But the things wewe acknowledge in dreams are different than the ones wewe acknowledge in waking.
As languid as can be, the wisp carries the imp-dryad towards its companions.

So you, after one last peek at your slumbering house, head in the same direction. wewe upendo the forest after all. It isn’t frightening in the slightest, it is a comfort.
It is home.

wewe pass under a natural arch of old oak. Cedar and pine intertwine with the oaks making the forest diverse and inviting. Their scents mix together and wewe cannot tell which odor belongs to which tree. wewe see a beetle scuttle over the bark and decide not to touch any of the trees. The wisps light your way as wewe traipse about. wewe have been in this very forest for many years—your mother is fond of reminding wewe that she used to take wewe for walks here when wewe were just a babe, she of course, did all of the walking. But this is the first time wewe can think of that wewe have ventured here during the night hours. Under the moon it is familiar in a surreal sense. The trail is accented kwa the same sizable rocks that have been there for ages. They didn’t have as much moss when wewe were a child, as they do now. The collection of fungi poking out from under them is new too. From somewhere within the branches of a cedar, an owl hoots. It is mysterious enough and darkly alluring but it is not eerie nor mournful. It is followed kwa a higher hoot and then a deeper one that sounds much closer. wewe think that, that third call might have come from the oak inayofuata to you. wewe squint up at the mti but can make out nothing. wewe wish that wewe had brought your flashlight, your iPod’s light will do just well, but it feels somehow less appropriate.

wewe would like to gawk some zaidi but the swarm of wisps are waiting, wewe don’t know where they are going to lead wewe but wewe don’t want to leave them waiting for too long. For a moment wewe long to dash into the swarm and let those beads of light dance around you, but wewe guess that doing so might be seen as invasive so wewe keep your distance as they lead wewe deeper into the forest. The trees pack themselves zaidi tightly as wewe trail further in. One might think it would be oppressive, but wewe feel as though the trees in their density offer wewe better protection. kwa the time the wisps stop moving wewe find yourself in a clearing. What wewe see throws wewe right back into your childhood and for the first time in ages your imagination has fuel. Dream au not, wewe find yourself in the midst of something wewe know is very special. wewe don’t know the occasion, but celebration is all around you. There is decoration all around. Most of it consists of yew and floral garland. wewe see it dangling from branches and wrapped around mti trunks, pink roses and daisy climbs all the way up. In other places wisteria clings to the trees; this spectacle can’t possibly be real as wewe have never seen wisteria in these parts before. But then, you’ve never seen an imp-dryad either. Golden glitter seems to hang in the air, leaving a fine dust on your clothes and in your hair. Everywhere wewe look there are hovering paper lanterns mostly in greens, purples, blues. Upon giving one a gentle tap wewe realize that they are not part of the décor. The delicate being nips at wewe and bobs away, taking its light with it.

wewe find yourself dazzled kwa fairy music. A fairy with a harp, a satyr with a pan pipe, and an elf with a hurdy gurdy. There is also a centaur playing an instrument you’ve never seen before that moment. It is silver in make and has a tube-like body. wewe may have taken it for a flute if not for the spindly spines that rise and fall with each note. Many of the pixies, elves, and faeries spin and twirl gracefully to the beat of the song. Bells tied around their ankles tinkle as their dresses of lace and flora swish fluidly about.

wewe can see so many different creatures gathered about. There are a few gnomes intermingling with dwarves and goblins. Further into the forest a few witch covens make conversation with vampires. The mtu-bweha huddle near the faun. A cluster of talking mice with iridescent fur, manyoya skitter at the feet of a winged dog. wewe even glimpse a few miniature dragons. Though lacking in size their scales are magnificent, splayed over their bodies like shiny tie-dye. Most of them boast the colors of the most breathtaking sunset, some of them ripple in blues, greens, and teals like that of untainted pond water and others have scales of pure silver dipped at the edges in dhahabu dust. Oh, but there is such a variety wewe can’t possibly keep track of it all.

As wewe marvel at the dragons, the elven kin offer wewe berries and diced mushrooms on platters bordered with pinecone scales. Others offer wewe a chance to dance with them. wewe take them up on their offers and dance until wewe are ready to return to your bed.

***

wewe want to go back to the park, but daily tasks call wewe away from it. wewe have a orodha of mundane things to do from the laundry to some vacuuming, each task is as dull as the next. Between loads of alisema laundry, wewe find yourself picking up some of the clutter wewe let accumulate in your room—better to do it yourself than to wait for your mother to cause a stir over it. As wewe do so, wewe cast longing glances at your book shelf. A few of your inayopendelewa titles are calling you. The voices of the ones you’ve been meaning to read cry louder. But wewe are forced to ignore them for now. wewe promise that wewe will come back for them when wewe get the chance, even if it’s only a page au two before bed.

Your relief today comes in the form of your father reminding wewe that wewe still have to help him string the lights out around the patio and the in the trees so that your grandma will have something to smile upon. At least with this chore wewe can go out and get some fresh summer air instead of remaining cooped up in your house. So wewe tell him that wewe will be downstairs in just a moment. wewe change from your pajamas into your shorts and your inayopendelewa summer tee. You’re dad is already outside, getting a head start on the task, kwa the time wewe have finished dressing.

As wewe work to put up the first strand, wewe peer into the forest. Your dream from about a week zamani comes back to the surface.
A swarm of gnats play in the tall nyasi near where the forest opens up. And a family of butterflies flutter around its natural oak entrance, where vines and something that looks like wisteria dangle down. A generous amount of sunlight casts itself upon the spot. It looks simply enchanting and as majestic as a forest ought to. Ivy curls around trumpet vine and creeps up the bark of the oak. Those little machungwa, chungwa flowers are exactly the kind that would house a teeny fairy baby.
And for a moment wewe believe again.

For no other reason than to humor yourself, wewe stray from the strand of lights and motion to peel a petal back. But before wewe get the chance to peep into the maua, ua your father beckons wewe to stay on task as your grandparents would arrive any dakika now. wewe sigh, the maua, ua and the fantasies it brings will have to wait. A lady bug with a shell like a dotted red pearl springs from the trumpet flower. As a child wewe used to chase them around the yard, letting them crawl along your fingers. wewe climb back atop your ladder and finish weaving the strand of homemade lights through the branches. wewe step down to admire your work. Between yourself and your father, the new decorations are looking pretty spiffy. The two of wewe keep up until all of the trees in your yard get their share. In the daylight they look like ordinary jars but once wewe plug them in, they will look as mystical as everything else in the garden. wewe are eager for night just so that wewe can see the full glory of your work. Briefly wewe consider that it would have been zaidi suiting to set candles in each jar instead of a bulb, wewe vocalize this to your father. He disagrees, stating that doing so would be too tedious and time consuming anyhow. As wewe are about to leave, he asks wewe if wewe will help him clean the gutters. It is a task he has been neglecting for months now and your mother has been arguing with him to get it done. Deciding that wewe don’t want to hear it again, wewe agree. wewe might as well seeing as most of today has been eaten up kwa housework anyhow.

The inayofuata morning is even less thrilling. It starts with the bleating of your alarm clock, stealing wewe away from a pretty dream and thrusting wewe harshly back into real life. It would be less irritating if a long siku of work wasn’t in store for you. wewe tug your uniform on and have a quick breakfast of two pancakes and some apple juice. wewe grab your car keys and head out. Your car is nice enough, wewe suppose, it treats wewe well and gets wewe where wewe need to go. That’s all wewe can ask of it. wewe arrive at work, a quaint little local coffee shop. Mostly it isn’t bad but there are some days when wewe would rather curl up under one of those gaudy pink and mizeituni, mzeituni green striped tables and never come out. On those days wewe yearn for the simplicity of childhood. The time when wewe didn’t have to worry about Matilda and her ridiculously complicated orders and the hissy fits she throws when her latte isn’t done exactly right. wewe have never come across someone so picky. Today is one of those days where she is screeching at wewe because your coworker ‘didn’t heat it properly’. Your boss intervenes offering her a new one on the house, if for no other reason than to calm her tantrum. wewe wish that she wouldn’t cave like that, but wewe don’t say anything lest wewe precure Matilda’s wrath again.

It is late when wewe get home, so wewe go upstairs and try to write. But no stories come to your head, so wewe opt to surf the web instead, that comes naturally. Such is how it has been for a while now, all of your soul wants to put the pencil to the paper but no words seem to come and when they do they just don’t sound right. They don’t flow how they used to. wewe click around for a bit and try to recall past ideas that wewe never got around to uandishi but wewe can’t think of any. wewe check your emails and watch a few videos. wewe have another idea, wewe begin flipping through your journal for stories that wewe have never finished. No inspiration comes from there either, though wewe have some pretty solid stories started wewe have no idea where to take them. wewe also fear that your uandishi has become lackluster and will ruin something that looks so good. Finally frustrated out of your mind, wewe put the journal away wondering where your Muse had fled to as wewe frantically give one last attempt to collect the visages of your past creativity. When that fails too, wewe retreat to your kitanda with a faint hope that perhaps your dreams will offer wewe some new material, but lately wewe have been struggling to recollect their content.

Work keeps wewe busy for the days to come and wewe don’t get a chance to go to the park until the sekunde week of June. It has been too long, watching fireflies blink in your yard just doesn’t cut it. So at the first chance wewe get, wewe grab a book, your journal, and your bike and wewe set off. Despite the summer crowd, your inayopendelewa spot under the willow, the spot where you’d first put your journal to use, is unoccupied. Maybe sitting in your inayopendelewa spot again and enjoying nature’s energy will kindle your creative vibes. The field before wewe now shows off delicate pink azalea, white tri-petaled trillium, and the sunny yellow of daffodil. Near the swing set, before nyasi turns to woodchip, a viburnum shrub has finally exploded with teeny white blossoms. The air is pleasantly hot as wewe tap wewe pencil onto the paper of your journal.

***

wewe are lost, terribly so. It might not have been so bad except for the rain. The world around wewe has a grey tinge to it and wewe wonder if your family has noticed your absence. Really, all wewe intended was to have a quick walk. The family reunion has been pleasant enough so far, but it is crowded and wewe wanted to get a break from aunts with no sense of personal space and overly loud uncles made louder kwa a few cans of beer. The nature reserve the reunion was being held at is a charming place; the ground is lined with toadstools and clover. To the left a field of rye bobs up and down under the spell of the summer breeze. Your family had made good work of the small trees, tying white lace to their branches and sprinkling faux diamond scatter at their feet. wewe had watched dark clouds gather at the corner of the sky, all the while, the forest path was calling you. It had been calling wewe since wewe arrived. After an offhanded joke kwa uncle Marvin, wewe decided that it was time to make your get away. wewe probably should have told your parents wewe were stepping out for a bit au at the very least wewe should have invited your cousin to tag along, she knows the area well. But wewe didn’t think to do so and now wewe are Lost in some forest of red maple and black birch in Connecticut, states away from your nyumbani in Maine. It was wonderful at first, the sprinkle hadn’t yet turned into an all-out rainfall and wewe remembered to take your camera along so wewe had managed to snap a few picha of the sweepy leaves of a hemlock mti spotted with raindrops. The fluff of cottonwood fell upon wewe with the raindrops giving the forest a rather fantastical allure. And because of the drizzle, many of the zaidi annoying insects had fled. That should have been your first clue that wewe were walking into a storm, instead wewe felt relieved that wewe didn’t have to swat at gnats the whole time. wewe caught some of the fluff and put it in your pocket, wewe don’t yet know what wewe will use it for, but it seems like a nice thing to have. Something else caught your eye, a glistening in the bushes. When wewe stooped down to see what it was, wewe were disappointed to find a shard of a broken bottle. The rest of the thing like shattered a few feet away, marring an otherwise pristine view.
All of these things are what have distracted wewe to the point of not being able to find your way back to the reserve.

Instead wewe came out at the edge of an old steel mill. This is where wewe stand now, at the edge of the forest, gazing at the ugly thing that nature is trying its best to reclaim. Its abandoned and in shambles but it has already done its damage. The structure is a tangle of rusting metal tubes and pipes, the kind that had inevitably, during their running days, hacked out enough smog to anger even the smokiest dragon. As of late these tubes and pipes have been conquered kwa creeping ivy, wewe are pleased to see that the green tangle seems to be strangling the gaudy things. Rising from the juu are smoke stakes of various sizes in various states of corrosion and decay. wewe can see cracks in the fixtures. It isn’t your usual material, but wewe take a quick picture regardless. As wewe wander closer the ground becomes progressively trashier. The mill had vomited up screws, cogs, and scraps of unused metal. Broken steel beams hang precariously in the entryway. Curiosity gets the best of wewe though and wewe are inside before your brain sounds the warning bells. The space is wide and ugly, the roof is a kaleidoscope of long dead pipes, crossbeams, and steel pillars with nuts and bolts bigger than your face. A few of the pipes that waterfall down the ukuta sport pressure gauges and wheels used to open and shut the ventilation system. There is a power panel on the opposite ukuta in which the ivy made its way in. nyasi burst through cracks in the decomposing floor and curled around levers and metal spokes. The windows too are cracked, some to the point where they have holes. wewe are most appalled though, kwa the miniature generator in the corner and its cluster of uranium fuel rods. wewe remove yourself from the industrial jungle as quickly as wewe had entered it.

wewe continue down the road, trying to put some distance between yourself and the daunting mill. The rain is coming down in sheets now, coaxing the mist to thicken. In no longer eddies around your ankles, but blots out a good portion of your vision. wewe hope that the rest of your family has made it inside safely. wewe see figures poking through the mist—wooden skeletons that range in height from waist level to towering above your head. They are trees, wewe realize, au what’s left of them. They jut out of the ground like jagged fingers. The ground beneath them is a mess of twigs, crunchy leaves, flakes of bark, and sawdust. The remains of something that was once so breathtakingly powerful. The mist flows from their husks mournfully. wewe take your camera out and hastily capture the somber display before the rain can damage it. wewe can see a saw blade burrowed into one of the trees, wewe walk closer intent on pulling the blade out.

As wewe edge nearer, the air seems to glimmer and distorted as if someone has draped seran wrap, upangaji pamoja over the landscape.