The Pattern Voices
When I was seven, my family moved into a small suburban house on the outskirts of town, in the shadow of the Elderwood Forest. This is where the tale of the Pattern Voices begins.
I was a child with an insatiable curiosity and a profound imagination, both fueled by the resounding whispers echoing from the Elderwood. There used to be discussions in the neighborhood about the strange sounds reverberating from the woods, sighing tales of forgotten era. Most dismissed them as wind rustling through branches or chitter-chatter of nocturnal animals.
However, unpredictably, while I was playing solo games or doing an arduous school assignment, unapproachable words, murmurs, would find their secret passageway into my ears. Slight, fragmented whispers, like an old song playing on a wounded radio somewhere far away. Amusingly, somehow, I knew they were called the Pattern Voices.
From a distance, Elderwood was overpowering and gloomy, but the brave daylight convinced me to venture into its depths. My little exploration started out as just an ordinary exploration, but took a strange turn when I tripped over a pattern engraved in soft moss-covered rock. It was an intricate, spiral design, centering a peculiar symbol that looked like an open eye. I gently ran my fingers over the pattern, and in that moment, the whispering voices turned into a symphony of clear words.
'Seeker of wisdom, are you?' echoed a mellifluous voice, I staggered back in astonishment, my heart pounding.
Every day since then, I returned to the pattern and spent hours learning from the voices. They recounted tales of ancient folklore, wisdom of the eras, lessons of humankind, old lullabies, even the pressing anxieties of the future.
However, nobody believed the stories about my secret woods-teacher. 'Poor child, making up imaginary friends,' the adults would murmur. The ridicule had a strange flipside. It allowed me to guard the secret of the Pattern Voices more securely, protecting it from cynical scrutiny.
As years passed by, I assumed new roles in life. The real world absorbed me in its frenzy, drawing me away from the callings of Elderwood. The demanding city life drowned the noise of the Pattern Voices in my ears until one distressing day, a letter arrived from my father, informing me about bulldozers reaching the edge of Elderwood. My heart pounded menacingly; I had to save the Voices.
I arrived at the edge of Elderwood, staring at the monstrous machines lined in finality. I sprinted through the familiar trails to reach the pattern. It was undisturbed, waiting for me. I placed my hand on it, asking for help, and was greeted by the calming voices of the forest.
'Seeker, no bulldozer can erase the wisdom of ages. We live in you, in the lessons you carry,' the Voice echoed, 'Share our stories, keep us alive.' I closed my eyes, holding back tears, whispered a soft goodbye, and fled from the relentless onslaught of man against nature, the pattern and its voices burning an indelible imprint on me.
The next day, the Elderwood was no longer there, but I still had the voices in my head and the pattern engraved in my heart. I began spreading their legacy, sharing the wisdom and tales the Pattern Voices had taught me.
Today, I am an old man, an author, a storyteller, carrying an entire forest within me. The Pattern Voices still echo in me, reverberating through the modern concrete walls into the hearts of another generation, underscoring the power of wisdom, resilience, and the irreplaceable value of nature.