THE WANDERING EARTH

‘The Wandering Earth’ is a cyclical tale written from the clouded perspective of a little tuft of grass who, inspired by a couple of courageous mushrooms (whose spores have journeyed far and beyond), decides to venture above ground. The path pushes him left and right, upside down and sideways, following traces of trunks filling tiny pockets in between, holding him all together and down (with the help of gravity of course).

Through bluebell forest, soil (and soul) shattering sunlight and open meadow.. it is a story of continuity - of this unfolding from death into life into death into birth and back again. Emerging and returning.

It is a process of letting go.

Published by Spellweaver Magazine https://www.spellweaverlit.com in November 2023.

It has been described as “obscure and upredictable at times, vivid in others, and many a beautiful image and feeling manifested”; “Brilliant. Lovely and light and inspiring to read”.

Full story below.

I once hadn’t a clue what to do, a stray and sorry sod of the Earth like myself.

Who’d want me out there in the weird and weary world? Was there something worth seeing, or even ‘being’ for?  

Well I had little green tufts of hair sprouting from my scalp. They blew about there in the breeze and made me tingle - all the way down to my roots. But I was blind and dumb, and very much still embedded in the earth.  

My fungal friends, freshly born of the slime-womb, had long told me there was much to fruit for. They’d pop their little brains above ground when all was damp and dying. Once the trees had fed us their golden leaves the mushrooms rose to greet them.

They’d often encourage me to rise with them, but I,  overwhelmed by their courage and their freedom, only buried myself deeper in the earth. They’d tickle me with their spores,  telling me wild stories of blue skies, footsteps and giggles on the wind. 

I dreamed silently. 

And then, one day, I decided to wander yonder.

Emergence

I heaved myself up, bits of turf flying down into the earth from which I leapt. 

I bounced an inch along, and soon found myself in a forest of bluebells. The bluebells encouraged me to make haste - I hopped again. The sun was beaming down through a thousand tangled trees. Suddenly I saw what all my grassy hairs had been seeing all along. Then came footsteps - a fellow wanderer in my midst. 

A rubbery bootleg was before me, long tendrils lifted me higher. I was face to face with human eyes. How soft was the touch of my earth upon his skin!

I had only just ventured out of my little nook, only to find Man, my first encounter! Friend or foe? I didn’t know. 

I’d heard their voices haunt the valley before - they were bright, unsoiled.

I could hear them through many layers of soil and sediment. Can you imagine the breath of those voices to me then? They were filled to the brim with air. They seemed to be drinking or drowning in it. 

They lost themselves in the echo that the trees sang in return. 

Meeting the man was like meeting the Wind.

Long before I’d seen his face, I’d felt his bootsoles on my bristles. I had known he was out there - but not in this form, not in this pale and grave steed. 

His bark was smooth and slippery, his voice was mist. Wondering if it might wish to eat me, I hopped again - and soon found myself back in the forest of bluebells, with all of the damp and gentle things. 

A screech echoed from above - the earthling was afraid of me, a silly sod like myself! 

I giggled, and thrust myself about, sprinkling bits of fresh soil on the ground below. A poor unfortunate soul he was, to come after the likes of me! I must live up to my destiny! 

 ‘The Earth as you know it is not extinct! There is a party going on under the soil!’ I told him. Still, I couldn’t help it - I was frightened.   

But the moment is lost, before it is spent. 

Dusk was dripping in, I felt it in my roots. There was nowhere to hide in the flowers - the upper world was so wide and vast and unknown. I was no longer camouflaged in the earth, and I didn’t know, now, how to make my way back down.

Decades passed in a droplet - and the world was wet and wonderful. I was a-fuddles in the puddles. I could see only blurry but my grassy mind urged me to pick myself up and hop on. So I did. I was damp, I longed for my Mother down beneath me, and Mr. Earthy, the earthworm, and wanted to be home again. But I carried the soil and strength in my breast and continued to move forward, hop by hop. 

We were rolling down a hillside, into a patch of green. Alas, a field of bright tomorrows! Yet  it had not passed a day! I felt lucky. The shamrocks swam about me, prodding me on with force and gentry. 

That is, until I realised something - the man was following me! A demon on my trail! What vice had I now, but trickery? A lifetime in the forest had rotted me.

I decided to throw him off my path by jumping at random across the grasses. I flew left, then right, then both simultaneously. I was ambidextrous, I was blind. But I could see light in all the darkened places, and sky where the clouds should be. I jumped high and hid myself, tumbled over and threw myself. 

We had entered the field now, and I ‘hopped’ to be better able to camouflage myself. 

But I was the green of deep forest, not field, my soil almost as ancient as earth itself. This field was freshly planted, the grass so bright it burned. 

I feared the Man could still see me, and realised I was right. He followed close behind, and every move I made, no matter what way I swung myself, I returned to the same spot, and so did he.

We went about in this way for some time. The man was doing a jig for me - perhaps he was in love with me. But every time he nearly caught me, I hopped an inch away. 

The sun was still coasting down the sky when I heard another voice from up above me.

And then there were two! The new man looked fresher - as if he hadn’t been on earth very long. His face was shy of folds and wrinkles. 

‘How’s it going, are you alright my man?’ said he husky tones. The other Man remained silent, for he was lost as a feather in jigs and reels.

I continued to scatter myself about - could I confuse two Giants at once? Could I lick two leaves with one stone? 

So I kept dancing at random. And managed to find a rhythm that rocked them both in order (.. or disorder, however you wish to see it).

Soon however, I grew weary. The forest called me back. I wanted to belong again, you see.  I wanted to return to source and to safety. 

But the moment I started pondering I stopped hopping. And the moment I stopped hopping, the spell was lost. 

We were alone, in the dusky field. I was naked and unearthed. 

The giants stopped dancing along with me. They looked around, as if awakened from some strange sleep. And the one had many questions for the other.  

I stayed still, allowing only ripples of the wind and waves of thought through me, and only field bugs fit to enter me. 

The air breathed differently as night blew in. I could feel a fallen mist ascending.

‘Fine evening!’ said the giants to each other, without taking time to gather their thoughts. 

‘Are you out on the hunt, my lad, or what is it you’d be foraging for?’ said the youth to the elder, pointing at his large sack. 

‘This’d be my brain. Do not be weary of the fact it has the consistency of cold porridge’ replied the Man, and, upon opening it, revealed a mold infected sandwich dribbling lettuce and microbes. The men looked both shocked and satisfied at his discovery. 

‘Ah now, my man, you wouldn’t want to be eating that, anyway’ said the youth,  ‘You’ve not found any wild garlic on your travels? I’d be having it if ye did. And what are you doing anyway, out here alone? The missus must have the tea ready by now!’

‘Ah well, ‘tis a long story and I’ve quite forgotten it. I am trying to get organized, really, but all of these things keep flying in-‘

‘Flying in?’ said the youth, looking at the sack. 

‘Yes lad. Butterflies and bees, feathers and flowers. Yesterday I found a little moth in there. All tokens of the land. I’m careful they can’t fly into my nostrils you see, so they enter the best way they know how - through the bag. I’ve quite the collection, coming and going. The dragonflies promise me eternal bliss, but the beetle bugs beg to differ’ said the Man. He looked surprised, for rhyme and riddle had never come easy to him. The words filtered through him like the rain. He was no longer waterproof. 

‘And what else have you got in there?’ Asked the youth in wonder.

‘A few poems. A splatter of fairy dust. And a pair of moldy socks’ smiled the Man. 

Then the field fell silent. The men separated and sang to the soil. I was humbled. 

Return

At dark I let myself disintegrate. The day was long, the dusk was gone, and I found myself drowning in slime and responsibility. I missed my place in the forest, and wanted peace. I made do with the open meadow.

I had no more journeys to make, but to be still and wait. 

The morning came. I’d never seen a sunrise, but it felt like a wildfire. I no longer feared the suns golden gaze, I became all eyes and I bathed in it. 

Part of me had collapsed and composted back into the earth overnight. My grasses goldened and returned to green. I got to experience myself as the weather. I ripened and fell. I watched my seasons shift me, change me. I became less and less. But I also became more. And I had children - they sat deep in the earth beneath me.

Then one very cold and frosty day, whatever little crumb was left of me dried out and decomposed.

 ‘From the earth I come, to the earth I go’ I said, and faded to the ground.

I remain now, but not quite as before. I am wind, I am whisper. I am the giants I have slain. I am the dance of the grasses green. I am the dusk. I am shaking fresh young soil all across the land. 

I am the mushrooms. I am the river. I am making mischief. 

And I am you.

© Ailbhe Wheatley.