Nature doesn’t wait
It was a warm August evening when I decided to go for a walk in the woods above Autun, a charming Burgundian town in France that I often visit. The air was balmy, and the last light of the day cast a golden glow on the leaves. I knew these woods, or so I thought. Equipped with coffee and a baguette, I was determined to take a long route.
The first two hours were delightful. Trees whispered softly in the breeze, and I felt a deep connection to the nature surrounding me. But as I walked further, I noticed that my pace wasn’t as brisk as I had anticipated when I planned the route, especially with the effort of climbing in the heat. Moreover, I kept stopping because everything around me was too beautiful to simply pass by. Large moss-covered rocks and gnarled trees that looked as if they had stepped right out of a fairytale. Time seemed to stand still, and I was continually enchanted.
But nature, beautiful as it may be, doesn’t wait. While I wandered in this eternal fairytale, I failed to notice how quickly the sun dipped behind the hills. Suddenly, the air felt clammy and cooler, and I realized that the light was fading dramatically. Twilight descended swiftly, and in the dense forest, it seemed as if someone had snuffed out the light. The trees now stood as dark, massive shadows around me, and my ears sharpened to catch any sound breaking through the dusk. Earlier that evening, I had enjoyed the silhouette of a deer against the leaf-filtered glow of the setting sun. Now, in the black embrace of night, the deer was there again, barking closer this time, its sinister call tearing through the silence. The twilight felt menacing, and every shadow seemed to move in the corners of my vision. The echo of that macabre barking lingered in the air, penetrating and ominous. I was but a shadow of the bold walker who had set out on this journey. And that annoyed me.
I wanted to be, and I wanted to flee
I tried to quicken my pace, but it was too late. The evening fell like a blanket over the forest, and I knew I wouldn’t make it back in time. The familiar paths were now unrecognizable, swallowed up by the darkness. I pulled out my phone to shed some light, but its screen was only a faint glimmer in the surrounding blackness. Moreover, my old battery’s percentage was dropping rapidly, and I needed to preserve signal.
It felt both frightening and fascinating at the same time. I wanted to stay and experience it, but I also wanted to get out as fast as possible. I wanted to capture it photographically, yet I needed to save battery life. I wanted to be, and I wanted to flee.
With no small amount of hesitation, I decided to find my way back. I had to step carefully to avoid tripping over the roots that now sprawled across the path like winding snakes. With every step, I felt the oppressive presence of the dark, dense trees around me. My breathing quickened, and my heart pounded in my chest. Time seemed to stretch endlessly, and for a moment, I entertained the thought of finding a spot on the moss to spend the night until daylight returned.
After what felt like an eternity, I finally saw the first buildings and lights of Autun below me in the distance. As I continued my way down to town, I couldn’t help but laugh at my own foolishness. No, perhaps it hadn’t been a perfectly sensible plan. And yet, the enchanting beauty of the forest stayed with me, as if I had briefly been in another world. Almost otherworldly.
In Autun, the terraces in the squares were packed. Wine was being served, a cellist played beautifully, and cheerful voices echoed at the foot of the old cathedral. Nothing here reminded of the twisting tree snakes, the threatening darkness, the ominous forest sounds. Most fairytales do end well.
