Northern_Lights_2019

42 the last until eventually they quieted to a moan. Finally, she started to grow tired of crying. Her mouth closed again, and her eyes opened slightly. She felt the wind blow against her cheek, making the streaks made by her tears feel cool and refreshing. Her breathing returned to normal, and for the first time in a long time, she looked up at the sky. Once she had stopped crying, she could hear some sounds that she couldn’t before. Instead of silence, Sicily could hear the wind rustling through the trees. She could hear the small pitter-patter of rain drops as some of the agitated branches tossed their dew onto nearby leaves. The caws of a crow could be heard far off above her head, and the brook she crossed trickled its soft echo in between the ebb and flow of the breeze. Sicily closed her eyes, listening even more closely to the forest. She imagined herself shrunken down as small as an insect. Smaller even. The leaves around her were huge, and every drop of water that fell from the canopy above was like a tidal wave. Little Sicily wasn’t afraid of the drops, however, because little Sicily could fly. Herminiature counterpart zoomed across the ground, weaving in and out of blades of grass. The ants and insects that she passed watched her as she flew by them, listening to thewind rushpast her small ears. Finding the twisted end of a tree root, she followed it as it swam in and out of the shallow soil. Eventually it shot out of the ground and connected with another root, and another, and another until she was flying up the trunk of a massive tree. She could see every curve and split of the cracked bark as she followed it up. She stopped for a moment and peered at it, taking in its immensity. Small holes in the bark were oozing with golden pitch, and the sunlight shone through its glass-like surface, illuminating the small pockets of air within. Continuing up the tree, she dodged branch after branch, coming so close that her hair whipped some of the emerald pines, rustling the dew on top of them. Finally, she stopped and stood on one of the tallest branches. She floated gently to the end of the bough, staring out at the sapphire sky. She was high enough now that she could see the countless trees blend into the surrounding fog until they disappeared into the fading horizon. The wind blew past much faster, unheeded by the innumerable stalks and trunks of the forest. Looking up again, she saw what she had seen on the ground; only this time the painting was not enclosed by a wooden frame. Instead, it enveloped her in its colors and vastitude. Its enormity and her minuteness sent a chill down her spine, which continued into her legs and arms, and made her muscles tingle with anticipation. Once more she leapt up into flight, shooting faster and faster into the sky. The forest fell away. The clouds shot past. The sky became larger and larger, encircling her entirely. Eventually the azure yonder faded into a darker navy. The higher she went the more the world dropped out. The clouds disappeared, the color faded into a darkness. The horizon became curved and vivid. Looking straight ahead, all Sicily could see were stars. The silence of space was finally broken. A twig snapped, the bracken ferns rustled, and a hurried figure broke into the grove with a gasp of “Oh dear God, Sicily! What Happened?”