A glade with forest spirits

⏱ ~6 min reading

Deep in the forest, far from the paths people walk, there is one clearing. It is special. It is not easy to find - and not everyone is shown it.

During the day, this clearing looks like an ordinary one. It is round, covered with thick soft moss, surrounded by young birches and old firs. In the middle is a small mountain ash tree, with ruby berries that burn like lanterns in the fall. You can hear a stream gurgling somewhere nearby. It smells of fir needles and damp earth.

Whoever walks along the path will look, say: "It's a beautiful place," and move on.

But at night this clearing is different.

When the sun goes down over the forest and the moon rises above the treetops, the clearing begins to glow. At first, faintly — as if someone had scattered silver pollen on the moss. Then it gets stronger. Then — so much so that it becomes visible between the birches, as if dozens of invisible candles are burning. Softly, warmly, without any smoke.

And in that light they move. The spirits of the forest.

They appear from between the trunks, from under the roots, from among the moss. Small, tiny. Light green, delicate, with transparent wings that slightly resemble dragonfly wings. They have no clear face - just a general outline: head, shoulders, thin arms folded on the chest. But their eyes are clearly visible. Big, warm, kind eyes.

The spirits of the forest wake up every night. And go out into the clearing. They gather in a circle, hold each other's light hands and slowly circle. They don't dance - they seem to float, like fog weaving a circle. The air then becomes especially quiet. Even night owls hold back their voices.

Good spirits. They are the soul of the forest. They protect everything - trees, animals, even tiny insects under the bark. They do not show themselves so easily. Only those with a good heart can see them out of the corner of their eye. Like a spark in the moss, like a greenish glow behind a tree - where two moments ago there was no one.

Those who believe in spirits say this. If you walk through the forest and don't break branches. If you don't pick flowers just like that, unnecessarily. If you go around an anthill so as not to step on them. If you say thank you to the stream when you drink. If it's quiet, you have a chance. Suddenly, at the turn, you'll see a greenish light among the ferns. It will blink and disappear. It was a spirit. It noticed you. And it looked you over.

Spirits appear especially when help is needed.

If a child is lost in the forest and wanders at night, crying, the spirits leave. They don't touch them. They simply appear ahead, like greenish lanterns. One. Then another behind him. Then a third. The child walks toward the light — step by step — and suddenly comes out onto a familiar path. To the house. To his mother. And the spirits dissolve as soon as the child sees the window of his house.

If an animal is injured in the forest, the spirits come to it. They stand in a circle around it. They don't touch it. They just stand there. And you can hear a very quiet whisper - like the rustling of leaves. The animal becomes warm. And the fear goes away. And the pain gradually calms down.

One evening — it was last fall, when the rowan berries were already ripe and the nights were long — a little bear cub got hurt on the trail. His name was Bubo. He was playing catch-up with his mother bear and didn't notice when he ran into some old roots. His paw caught on a stump, the bear cub fell over and screamed.

"Ow," squealed Bubo. - Oh-oh-oh.

The mother bear came running right away. She sniffed the paw. The paw was swollen, bent the wrong way. The bear cub was crying, whimpering softly, like a baby.

"Oh, my little one," sighed mother. "It's a long way from the hole. I can't carry you that far alone at night. Lie down here, I'll get you daddy.".

She ran. The bear cub was left right on the path. Night had already fallen. It was cold, scary, and her paw hurt. Bubo was crying. She covered her face with her paws and cried.

Then suddenly - quietly, quietly - a light appeared between the ferns.

Light green. First one. Then another. And another. They swam closer and closer. The bear stopped crying. Because it wasn't scary. Not scary at all.

The spirits formed a circle around him. One near his head. One near his paw. One at his feet. One behind his back. They didn't touch. They didn't speak. They just glowed—softly, green, warm.

Bubo felt that he was becoming comfortable. Like when his mother picks him up and rocks him. The pain in his paw stopped twitching. At first a little. Then more. Then completely quiet.

The spirit standing by the paw stretched out its transparent hand. It didn't touch it, no. It just ran its palm over the paw—from top to bottom. Once. Twice. Three times. Each time, the paw felt warmer.

After a while, Bubo smiled. He didn't understand why yet. He just felt good inside.

An hour later, the mother bear and her father came. She saw her baby and gasped. Bubo was sitting on the moss, blinking his eyes and… moving the same paw. The swelling had gone. The paw didn’t hurt.

"Bubo!" Mom hugged him. "How are you?"

"I don't know," the bear blinked. "I just feel good. Very good.".

The spirits had already disappeared by then. Dissolved among the ferns. Like a greenish mist that had gone with the wind.

Bubo never remembered them afterwards. Only somewhere in his memory remained warmth. And he knew one thing - in our forest it is always good. Always safe. Someone cares.

The spirits of the forest don't expect gratitude. They don't show up to say "thank you." They leave no trace. They just do good and leave. Because that's their job. That's their essence.

They are the soul of the forest.

And you can't see the soul. You can only feel it. Like the warmth that holds you when you're scared. Like a quiet caress when it hurts. Like the fact that you're not alone — even on the furthest path, even on the longest night.

As long as there is a soul in the forest, there is the forest itself. Trees grow, streams murmur, animals live, children find their way home. Everything is held together by the warmth that walks at night on the moss in that mysterious clearing.

So when you go into the forest, walk quietly. Don't break. Don't shout. Listen. And if you really, really need it, whisper gently — right into the moss carpet:

— Thank you, forest spirits.

They will hear. They always hear.