The wishing well in the woods

It all got too much, too loud, too bright.

And so

I followed a butterfly into the woods and looked for the wishing well.

I wanted to hear pennies drop.

Answers.

I knew I’d never find them amongst noise.

So, you reach a place of solace and realise that the sound of silence is louder.

It milks each blink of life from you.

My ears bled with the ringing.

The industrial grind of quiet.

No-one noticed I was missing.

And I had to question, if that was the reason I’d gone.

To see if anyone cared.

To call pigeons away from their city crumbs.

The smoke and squawk.

The bread. The jam.

To test the theory I might belong to a flock.

I walked some more.

Deeper.

Where ivy looked greener, trees taller.

And there comes a point, when you realise you didn’t lay out a stone trail, and if you go further, you won’t make it back.

So you have to decide, do you walk further into the woods?

Will you hear the pennies in the wishing well finally dropping if you do?

I see it, the well.

There’s the butterfly again, or is it a fairy?

How she flirts, dancing on the rim of the dark well.

“Follow me”

she whispers.

“This way. You’ll hear the pennies dropping if you just lean in”

She says.

Teetering on the edge, nimble limbs in lime slime.

I don’t listen.

I know she’s not real.

I am the well.

The golden pennies are already there.

Within me.

They just need retrieving, polishing.

I still walk in the woods.

But so far…..

I’ve always found my way home.

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