These trees block any thin ray of light. The sun was long gone and a thick cloud had covered all the stars. Inside my head, I heard the voice of a friend who once told me that our eyes could see in the dark. When you look closer, there is light in darkness, she said.
Treating her words like a magical sutra, I began the walk back to the iron gate of Jose D. Drilon Jr. Street. My sandals tapped on the concrete road as if they were the hands of a blind man looking for his way. My eyes oscillated between what I could see of the end of the road and the next piece of concrete my feet shall land on. I didn’t want to step on the slimy mud and moss that had accumulated at the middle of the road.
A little dark form appeared from afar. It seemed to be moving fast. Looking weightless, it made no sound as it waddled toward me. Suddenly, wild thoughts filled my brain. It’s too short, I told myself. Too short to be human.
I stopped watching my steps and slowed down so I could put all my attention on this fuzzy figure, which was already just a few feet away. I felt my heart pounding on the wall of my chest.
As the figure arrived in front of me, the hair behind my neck stood. There were hands and limbs. It wasn’t a ball of shadow floating after all. There stood in front of me was the shortest, nimblest grandma I have ever seen. Good evening, I uttered. Good evening, she returned. Then we both continued walking.
My heart began slowing down, and I was reminded of the many tales I’ve heard and read about this enchanted forest.