Letter from My Garden
The Forbidden City of the Forest
It was early afternoon. I was still reeling from the frustration of having repeatedly driven past a stretch of highway in front of this forest, which I suspected was strange. My curiosity was running wild; I couldn't resist any longer, I had to see it for myself…
So, on a beautiful sunny day, and with nothing planned in my retirement schedule, I decided to head towards this mysterious and alluring place, to explore it and, why not, get lost in it… Once there, I followed the small paths, crossed a few streams, and continued my unusual journey until I came to a bench, weathered by time, hidden in the shade of an old oak tree.
Sitting for a moment on this dilapidated bench, I thought it must have been there since time immemorial; its shape belonged to another era, the green paint covering it had peeled away in places, the iron frame was rusted, and the exposed wood had taken on a rather strange color. As I settled down, I felt the bench's legs sink slightly into the soft earth, and I carefully, without any sudden movements, took a camera out of my bag. The moment was magical; I couldn't leave this place without capturing its image.
The sun followed its unchanging path across the sky. Perhaps overcome by a feeling of well-being, I dozed off, only to wake a few moments later with a start, my mind a little bewildered by finding myself in this place. I decided to continue my visit. Walking briskly, though cautiously under the thick layer of dead leaves, I reached a crossroads.
Faced with a choice of paths, I remembered the games of my childhood when, as a young scout in a so-called "free" patrol (since it had no troop), I had to find my way back. Recalling this situation, which I'd encountered before, I chose the widest path, a veritable tunnel of trees and branches whose arch seemed to disappear into the depths of the woods. Involuntarily, I began to absorb this unexpected atmosphere; my imagination ran wild, sketching out the most fantastical scenarios.
The perfectly straight path ended with a left turn. When I arrived and was about to continue, I was seized by an indescribable anxiety… Before me, in an organized disarray, stood giant twisted beech trees, traditional refuges of the wicked witches who live and conspire in the undergrowth. I could have imagined myself in the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts Castle*
I didn't know where to look, so rich was the landscape; these centuries-old trees were splendid subjects, breathtakingly beautiful. A question came to mind: “How on earth did these trees get here, and if there was no doubt that humans had planted them, then why here, in this place in the middle of nowhere?” I searched the immediate vicinity for a remnant, a ruin that might offer me, at least, a glimmer of an explanation. In vain.
Completely absorbed in my curiosity, and after taking a multitude of photos, I decided to seek information from the locals and, like a modern-day adventurer, headed towards the first farmhouse I saw on the horizon.
Greeted by the barking of farm dogs, thankfully on leashes, I saw the farmer approaching me, visibly annoyed by my visit; only the fact that he wasn't carrying a gun reassured me.
I took the initiative:
"Good morning, sir. Excuse me for bothering you. I've just been for a walk in the forest bordering your property. Do you have a moment to spare?"
The man hesitated before replying:
"I'm not a tourist agency, much less an information service. I don't have time. Please move along; you're not welcome!" Faced with my interlocutor's resolute attitude, I reluctantly turned back without further ado; caution was the order of the day. Disheartened and disappointed by this hostile reception, after a few kilometers I arrived in the center of a small village that was no less idyllic than those in the heart of rural France. Old houses with cracked walls and steeply pitched roofs hinted at the harsh winter that would isolate this place from the rest of the world for several months.
A sign indicated that we were at an altitude of 1,000 meters. Calm and peaceful, the unchanging image of the old people encountered in rural communities, a man sat on a bench, leaning forward, leaning on his cane. The old man looked at me with a mixture of irony and mischief, seemingly relishing my obvious defeat.
Conversation with this man who seemed to me to be a living memory:
- Good morning, sir, excuse me for bothering you, I've just been for a walk in the forest next to the village; do you have a few minutes to spare?
To my great surprise, the old man invited me to sit down beside him and said:
- You see, I've been in this village for over eighty years now, and I see all sorts of curious tourists who come to waste their time searching for some kind of treasure. The vast majority come like invaders; they're noisy, inconsiderate people. They'll end up destroying their community, and the day that happens, I can assure you that we in this village will survive. We'll always know how to live as our ancestors, the inhabitants of the forest, did.
- But, sir, have you never wanted to see other places, to "see the world"? “Why should I travel the world when I’ve already arrived?”
Hearing him speak, I noticed that, curiously, the man had never sought, not even in his dreams, to leave his birthplace. Spurred on by my boundless curiosity, I asked him:
“Sir, you just told me about your ancestors who lived in the forest. Could you tell me a little more?”
“For that, I would have to accompany you into the woods, but my poor bones couldn’t withstand the journey, and all our young people have left to live in your cities. What I can tell you is that if your curiosity is patient, you can certainly find the forbidden city located in the forest, which will surprise you with its originality. And, with a bit of luck, if you are an honest man, you might even see a few ghosts wandering in a parallel world… but rest assured: they won’t even notice you.” “Sir, are you talking about ghosts?”
“Yes, I am talking about ghosts. They are the ancient inhabitants of the forest who still live in their ruined city and are indifferent to our presence; they seem not to see us.” Intrigued by the old man’s words, after the customary thanks, I decided to return to the forest in search of this mysterious city.
Rejoining the narrow paths, I explored every nook and cranny, looking for clues that might lead me to the forgotten city.
After a while, I noticed a spot particularly overgrown with the thick, unruly branches of a thorny bush. In its center, a statue carved in stone, representing a young woman partially covered in lichen and green moss… Finally, my luck was smiling on me. A statue in this place—it was something to marvel at, but also something to rekindle my curiosity and excitement. The old man was right; there was life in that forest, there was no longer any doubt.
To be continued…
Completely absorbed in my curiosity, and after taking a multitude of photos, I decided to seek information from the locals and, like a modern-day adventurer, headed towards the first farmhouse I saw on the horizon.
Greeted by the barking of farm dogs, thankfully on leashes, I saw the farmer approaching me, visibly annoyed by my visit; only the fact that he wasn't carrying a gun reassured me.
I took the initiative:
"Good morning, sir. Excuse me for bothering you. I've just been for a walk in the forest bordering your property. Do you have a moment to spare?"
The man hesitated before replying:
"I'm not a tourist agency, much less an information service. I don't have time. Please move along; you're not welcome!" Faced with my interlocutor's resolute attitude, I reluctantly turned back without further ado; caution was the order of the day. Disheartened and disappointed by this hostile reception, after a few kilometers I arrived in the center of a small village that was no less idyllic than those in the heart of rural France. Old houses with cracked walls and steeply pitched roofs hinted at the harsh winter that would isolate this place from the rest of the world for several months.
A sign indicated that we were at an altitude of 1,000 meters. Calm and peaceful, the unchanging image of the old people encountered in rural communities, a man sat on a bench, leaning forward, leaning on his cane. The old man looked at me with a mixture of irony and mischief, seemingly relishing my obvious defeat.
Conversation with this man who seemed to me to be a living memory:
- Good morning, sir, excuse me for bothering you, I've just been for a walk in the forest next to the village; do you have a few minutes to spare?
To my great surprise, the old man invited me to sit down beside him and said:
- You see, I've been in this village for over eighty years now, and I see all sorts of curious tourists who come to waste their time searching for some kind of treasure. The vast majority come like invaders; they're noisy, inconsiderate people. They'll end up destroying their community, and the day that happens, I can assure you that we in this village will survive. We'll always know how to live as our ancestors, the inhabitants of the forest, did.
- But, sir, have you never wanted to see other places, to "see the world"? “Why should I travel the world when I’ve already arrived?”
Hearing him speak, I noticed that, curiously, the man had never sought, not even in his dreams, to leave his birthplace. Spurred on by my boundless curiosity, I asked him:
“Sir, you just told me about your ancestors who lived in the forest. Could you tell me a little more?”
“For that, I would have to accompany you into the woods, but my poor bones couldn’t withstand the journey, and all our young people have left to live in your cities. What I can tell you is that if your curiosity is patient, you can certainly find the forbidden city located in the forest, which will surprise you with its originality. And, with a bit of luck, if you are an honest man, you might even see a few ghosts wandering in a parallel world… but rest assured: they won’t even notice you.” “Sir, are you talking about ghosts?”
“Yes, I am talking about ghosts. They are the ancient inhabitants of the forest who still live in their ruined city and are indifferent to our presence; they seem not to see us.” Intrigued by the old man’s words, after the customary thanks, I decided to return to the forest in search of this mysterious city.
Rejoining the narrow paths, I explored every nook and cranny, looking for clues that might lead me to the forgotten city.
After a while, I noticed a spot particularly overgrown with the thick, unruly branches of a thorny bush. In its center, a statue carved in stone, representing a young woman partially covered in lichen and green moss… Finally, my luck was smiling on me. A statue in this place—it was something to marvel at, but also something to rekindle my curiosity and excitement. The old man was right; there was life in that forest, there was no longer any doubt.
To be continued…
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