#14 The Deadfall

I used to take the path behind my grandmother's house when I needed to be alone. A hundred and fifty yards through waist-high grass led to a lush forest. Tall, mature trees lined the path that was cleared long ago. A sea of curved, gently waving ferns framed both sides of the trail.
The land sloped down from the field and then leveled itself. Sounds of rushing water, the white noise of these woods signaled my approach to the river. Stones broke the water's surface in just the right places to allow a crossing. After snow melt and heavy rains a few of the footholds disappeared making a crossing a question of just how wet would you get?
The land rose steeply after the river. It's characteristic sound replaced by eerie winds racing through the densely spaced pines. The trail wound unpredictably up the incline, sometimes avoiding a ravine or boulder. Other times the trail curved to allow the climber to double back and rest from the demanding slope.
And at the top was the deadfall; a massive pile of trees left behind by loggers before the turn of the 19th century. Engineers planned a firebreak to cut through the huge forest after several fires ravaged protected lands in  neighboring states the previous year.
I always turned back at the deadfall. It intimidated the hell out of me. I couldn't see an obvious way over it and it stretched to either side as far as I could see. But I always wondered and sometimes dreamt of what lay on the other side of the deadfall. One summer it consumed my thoughts so completely I set out to cross over it.
I equipped myself as I thought I might need and made straight for it. After a few hours I stood before the twisted, gnarled mound of dead trees. I edged west looking for an opening. After thirty minutes I turned about and walked east. Another hour passed and I could find nothing that resembled a possible way through.
Defeated, I sat on a stump and took a drink from my bota bag. While my heart rate slowed, I heard a sound that chilled me to my soul. I cannot describe it to you now. Nor will I ever be able to tell of it with any true accuracy. Let me simply tell you that I stiffened in fright and when my wits returned it took all my will not to turn and flee.
What I did then, was curious. I climbed the deadfall. Made straight for it, I did. I followed where I thought the sound of nightmares came from. The funny thing was this: after a minute or two of struggling, the deadfall opened up for me. No, it didn't move or become animated. The way became simpler, is all. As easy as the path through the ferns.
I ascended the crest of deadfall and fell to my knees at once. again, I could find no words for what I saw. I could not move or speak. I could only gape.