Illustration by Blake Lavia
Have you ever heard the giants breathe?
I think I have. I heard them breathe in the large rivers that meander down the peaks towards the valleys. I heard them breathe on the mountainsides, the trees pillars of thoughtful silence. I heard them breathe in the lakes, where the hush is so deep you can listen to your own heart beating. This is where the story begins, on a winter day. A day like many others, in which I decided to go and listen to the slumbering world of the mountains I call home.
That was the day I met them, the guardian of the forest, dressed in brown feathers. They were a barred owl; I remember them clearly. They swooped down from the sky, landing on one of the tall branches of a tree a few feet away from where I was walking. Their black onyx eyes looked down at me, searching. I was startled, at first, by the purpose that lay behind those eyes. Somehow, I knew the barred owl wasn’t there by chance. They had been waiting for my arrival.
It sounds odd to say that a barred owl might be waiting for a random human to walk by. Yet, there they were and there was I, both of us staring at one another. We didn’t move for a long time, and I got lost in those black thoughtful eyes. It was like a spell. I couldn’t look away, I couldn’t move. The forest receded all around me, as all my attention turned to the plumed forest guardian.
Then, the barred owl shook their feathers and took flight, leaving me gaping at their extended wings. They landed a few trees ahead and turned back towards me. The barred owl moved their head side to side, their body swinging sinuously as they wobbled on the spot. I gazed at them bewildered, wondering at this new display. I even looked around, searching for another owl, who would have been a more appropriate recipient for the owl’s attention.
We were alone. The woods were silent, except for the occasional breeze and the sound of dripping snow. The owl hooted, catching my attention again. They were still dancing on the branch, looking at me, and I understood. The owl, as odd it might seem, was asking me to follow them.
I started walking, without thinking about what I was doing. As I trudged through the snow, the owl took flight again but didn’t go far. They perched on another tree and waited, more patiently this time. Time slipped away from me. I followed my plumed guide, at first through the trail I was pursuing, up a gentle slope flaked by tall white pines. At a certain point, I don’t quite remember when, we left the human-made path. We dove into the heart of the forest. The sun ascended to its winter zenith, and then started falling, painting the snow orange and the shadows silver.
I only realized it had gotten dark, when the light had totally faded, and I couldn’t make out the shape of my guide. Everything was silent. It was as if an incantation had broken. I suddenly realized I was extremely cold, hungry and my body ached. Yet, oddly enough, I wasn’t scared. I could see the Milky Way, shining over my head. Thousands of stars dotted the sky, giving a new meaning to the word infinity. I stood there, lost in the contemplation of the universe, until I became aware of a stirring in the air.
Illustration by Blake Lavia
I looked down, and blinked. Fireflies. There were fireflies everywhere. Little balls of light were floating all around me, almost as if I had willed the stars to come down and join me on earth. It took me a moment to rationalize that I couldn’t be looking at fireflies. Fireflies don’t dance in the snow. Yet, there they were and were getting closer.
I didn’t dare move. The forest had come alive, the air brooding with small round beings made of light. Suddenly, they enveloped me. They weren’t solid. I was surrounded by pure light, which felt like the warm caress of a candle flame. They pushed me forward. I don’t know how they did it, ephemeral as they were, but I was compelled to move.
With their shining light, I could now see the path, for I was once again on a path. Some of the lights had gone ahead, showing me the way through the night. The snow ignited, reflecting the glowing orbs. I had the feeling of being inside a gigantic crystal, the snow also a white sky full of shining stars. It was still extremely cold, the air crisp, thin. Yet, I wasn’t freezing anymore, and even the hunger had faded. The shining lights held all my attention.
I didn’t immediately realize the night was no longer silent. I could hear water rushing. The lights’ pace accelerated. They had started dancing; dancing to the tune of a music I had never heard before. The water seemed to be singing; singing with a clear voice that spoke words no human language could replicate.
We got over a hillock, and I looked down. The trees parted, like the curtains of a theatre, and there they were: a lake and a small waterfall. The same orbs that had guided me were now dancing on the lake’s dark surface. It was like a dream.
The lights pushed me forward, and I descended the slope towards the lake. My boots crunched in the icy snow. The snow had melted during the heat of the day, and then frozen over. The weather hadn’t been particularly cold lately. The snow had been melting and refreezing, alternating between rain and ice.
I stopped at the edge of the lake. A crust of ice covered the lake’s surface, except for where the water still rushed. I didn’t dare step on it, for I doubted it could hold my weight. From closer by, the song of the water was louder, and I thought I could catch the meaning of the whispered words in the surreal melody.
The orbs dispersed. They all flew away from me, like a flock of birds taking to the sky. It was startling. Their glow had been keeping me warm and safe. Now I was left alone, prey to the biting crispiness of the night air. The orbs, however, didn’t vanish. They had joined their companions and were dancing on the lake’s frozen surface. I stared at them, only vaguely wondering what was going to become of me, lost as I was in the middle of the forest. Strangely enough, I wasn’t panicking yet. My senses had been dulled by the beauty that surrounded me.
A light emerged from the center of the lake. At first, it didn’t have a defined formed, but then it expanded, stretched, and contracted until I could discern a shape. I was looking at a stag; a stag made of light with dark patches as black as the surrounding night.
Illustration by Blake Lavia
The stag advanced towards me. As they got closer, I realized they weren’t quite a stag. Their horns extended like the branches of trees and had Nitella algae dangling from them. Also, the being’s face was like no deer face I had ever beheld. It had something human, but also something owlish.
The stag stopped in front of me, and their shape changed again. They became taller, even taller than me. Their limbs stretched, and their hide lengthened, draping down like a gown. Suddenly, I was looking at a human body with the head and the antlers of a stag, and the vaguely human face of an owl. We stared at each other. I wasn’t cold anymore. The creature’s body was even warmer than the orbs that had accompanied me. It was like standing in front of a blazing fire that didn’t melt the surrounding ice.
“Who are you?” I wanted to ask, but the words wouldn’t leave my mouth.
“The spirit of Water,” I heard a voice reply. It was speaking in my head, but it had nothing to do with my own thoughts.
“You…” I gasped, and the creature nodded.
“Yes, and I brought you here.”
“And why did you bring me here?” I asked.
The creature smiled, or at least I think they did. Their black onyx eyes curved slightly, and I thought there was a mouth curving right under their beaky nose.
“Because of this,” the creature pointed at the waterfall.
I frowned. Why would a spirit bring me there just to see a waterfall?
“It’s beautiful,” I muttered.
“I know, they are beautiful, as my immense body always is. I, the Water, am always magnificent. But this is wrong. I shouldn’t be running, like I do here. The snow is not enough. The cold, it’s not enough. We need more ice. My lakes need more ice, for life to cycle, for the currents to flow. Snow quenches the thirst of the Earth and keeps the balance for ecosystems to thrive. We need the ice, we need snow, and it’s not cold enough,” the creature replied.
I was enchanted by the sound of their voice, which was like the melody of the waterfall singing. Yet, their voice was so sad, it pierced my heart. I glanced around. There couldn’t have been more than half a foot of snow, and not everywhere. I remembered more snow, in the long winters past, when I was younger but still roamed those forests. The snow had diminished exponentially over the last decades, and every year the winters shortened. All the fossil fuels we burnt, the forests we cut, and the rivers we dammed, increased the planet’s temperature, making glaciers and the frozen poles a memory.
“I know,” I said, realizing I was crying. My tears froze on my cheeks, crowing my lashes with crystals that glistened in the light that emanated from the Water Spirit’s body.
“What can I do?” I added, knowing there wasn’t much I could do to change something that was happening on such a vast scale. Yet, the creature had sounded so desperate. I had to try and do something for them.
The water spirit smiled again and took my hand. It was like touching light made solid. Their touch felt like water; water made of light.
“Dance with me,” the creature replied, pulling me forward.
Illustration by Tzintzun Aguilar-Izzo
My boots slipped on the lake’s frozen surface, but I didn’t fall through the ice. I started skating, as I trailed the Water Spirit towards the center of the lake. There, we were joined by the glowing orbs, and suddenly the music started. The melody that had been playing in the background had swelled in volume, Water now singing to the top of their voice.
The Water Spirit started moving in a circle, and I followed. At first, I was slipping and tripping on my feet. Soon enough, however, I got my bearings, and I was spinning, twirling. The sky revolved over my head, while the lights spun all around us. The Water Spirit held both my hands, guiding me through the paces of a preternatural waltz.
I closed my eyes, letting myself be guided. I don’t know for how long it lasted, but it suddenly stopped. The Water Spirit held my hands a moment longer, and then they let go. The lights went out. I shuddered, as I opened my eyes. The night was dark and extremely silent. I looked around, confused. Where had the waterfall gone?
I was standing by my car. I couldn’t believe it. After all that walking in the woods, I had somehow returned. I searched my pockets for my keys and hurried inside. Now that I wasn’t surrounded by the supernatural lights, the night felt even colder. I turned on the engine and waited for the heating system to kick in, but I didn’t drive away. I was too stunned to do anything. Had it all been a dream?
Minutes passed, and I slowly regained sensitivity to my face and legs. The more I thought about what I had experienced, the more I realized it didn’t really matter whether it had been a dream. Water had spoken to me. A Water Spirit, the spirit of a lake and forest, had asked for my help. It was then that I knew. I was going to do something. I drove home, knowing that I would be guided, just like the owl had guided me earlier that day. Water would guide me, and together we would find a way to bring the snow and the ice back to the mountains we loved.