My voice didn't seem to work properly, so that when I finally started to speak it came our raspy and thinner than usual. "I--I am sorry, Spirit." I coughed in an attempt to clear my throat. "My friend--the friend who showed me this place--she too...well, she and I were close for a long time. And it so happens that when I went to visit her I was not in good place in my life, shall we say."
I felt Spirit's eyes on me, which proved uncomfortable enough that I turned instead to the moon as she had, and spoke to that high lamp above the forest as though I were addressing her. "The thought of scarcity can make a body frightened and stressed, I think. That's how it felt to me, anyhow. And what's worse, it makes us fearful that everything we think we have will suddenly disappear, or turn against us, or prove false, or whatever. We become jealous, and suspicious, and fretful as a mother hen without a mother's warmth to compensate us for all the fuss incurred.
"My point is that when I came to visit this forest with my friend, I was seeing the world in terms of scarcity--of money, of job-opportunities, friends, partners--you name a good thing, and I would fret of its shortage. It was not a happy state of mind, Spirit, and when I saw that my friend perhaps no longer felt the same way for me as I felt for her, I responded by trying harder so she would; because when you believe you're about to lose something important, and you think it's your last opportunity to ever have anything like that again--you become as desperate as a person trying to save themselves from a rip-tide."
Spirit's eyes widened at that. "But you can't fight a rip-tide," she said, as though remembering something from long ago. "You need to relax, and swim with the current until it subsides. I had an uncle from the mainland tell me that once."
"And he was right," I said, "so far as saving your life is concerned. As for my situation, I should have backed away when I finally realized the gist of her feelings--though they were never totally clear--and been a good friend and not crowded her space with my desperate pleas. I wanted her to like me as she once had, you know? As a friend, certainly, but also as someone she could love and be loved in return. Is that such a bad thing? I think no, but then so long as we're alive, Spirit, we're always changing--different people then we once were.
"And maybe it was that the girl I had loved--and the boy she had loved--had each become different people over the years, so that when we met again under those trees, the spark that once was had become something else. And no desperation on my part could change that. And so, much like your fiance, Spirit, my friend elected to break contact with me and provide no explanation other than that it was necessary."
I paused, blinking at the moon, it's light causing my eyes to water. A breath of wind carried over the cornfield, rattling the dried stalks and wiping what remained of my tears from my cheeks. I turned toward Spirit, whose tears had also dried, and who looked on with quiet focus. I swallowed hard, and let out a long breath. "Which is why," I said, "when you asked if I knew what she thought of me I couldn't tell you. She didn't say before she left, or give any indication of her feelings so far as I could tell. Yet if I had to guess, I think deep-down she wants me to be happy--to look out upon the world and see abundance, not scarcity; to be generous and patient and trusting--open to new things, flexible, creative, and kind. Because while I don't believe she loves me as she once did, I do believe she cares for me on some level; and that maybe, as we are different people than when we first met, so perhaps as different people in another time we might meet again as friends."
I found Spirit at my side then, and there was a hopeful expression in her eyes. "You miss her," she said.
"Yes," I said, nodding, "I'd have to be a machine not to. But I respect her choices, Spirit, and want nothing but good things for her. That is all, even if I never see or speak with her again."
Spirit nodded, and made a sweeping gesture. "Come, the sun is rising."
We stood upon the crest of the knoll, under the branches of the tall, old beech tree, looking out toward the town; the fjord on the left, and a horizon of purple clouds changing to pink, red, and orange to our front.
"Time for you to leave," Spirit said.
"Aye," I replied, then thought a moment. "This isn't really the Boserup Skov, is it?" I asked.
Spirit smiled. "No," she said, turning her gaze back toward the rising sun. The brighter the sky became, the more she faded. "Though it might be, in your mind. For what is a dream, if not a sketchbook for puzzling out the contents of our own hearts?"
I couldn't think of a response to that, so I nodded and closed my eyes. I could still make out the morning sun through my eyelids, and suddenly I felt as though I were tumbling through a wide, empty space. "Goodbye, Spirit, and thank you," I whispered to the air, while a powerful wind began to blow across my ears. Through the din I heard her voice--distance, yet familiar and friendly: "Selv tak. Farvel, min ven."
And when they opened again to find light shining through the blinds of my bedroom window, my eyes were awash with tears of joy. I let them fall and settle where they would, and then standing before the window I pulled back the curtains and watched the blossoming of a new day. A new day, I thought to myself, and breathing deeply, let a smile come to my lips. It felt strange after going so long without one, but in that moment a smile--like a sunrise--seemed like the start of something new; something wholesome and full of possibilities. Not scarcity.
It was a happy moment, that, when the sun rose and warmed my face that morning. I felt like a new person, and someone that made all the difference.
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