Aokigahara-Sea of Trees

Sea of trees, hear the bells.

The early morning mist, wafting in the forest, between the trees like a living beeing.
Coiling, stretching, dancing, gliding over bolders and sliding down, deeper into the wood.

On the higher branches, or some feet away on the ground, if one looks carefully, you can see movements, where the fog swirls and hidden from unseen eyes, the small spirits of the wood wander around.
Sometimes one can catch a glimpse of the big, dark eyes, the barely visible milky bodys..only another swirling part of the fog for others.

A skull, no longer white, tinted green in the humid climate by the first fragile moss which tries to win new territory.
The dark shadows in the eyeholes seem to follow ones movements, starring at you..sad or angry..what do you think? Is there still some energy left which is bound to the bones until they dissolve?
Sobbing, or only the moaning chant of a strange bird. Strange hollow sighs and groans, unbound and bodyless until the single chime of a bell is heard.

The fog clogs, swirls and turns. Breathing movements, something sucking the mist into a solid form. Parts of it scatter away like frightened birds as a limb steps on the mossy soil and then a snout is pushing out of the fog, still in the process of forming from a cloudlike phenomenon into a furry head.

Another appendage is settling on the ground before the barely formed head is starting to shake, shaking away the mist like a dog would dry its fur from water, making the body visible.
As the mist glides away from the body, parts of it gathering, swishing and coiling together until two tails are visible behind the white, larger than life, fox creature, twitching to shrug away the last droplets of fog and the bell chimes a second time.

Only the golden eyes and the black tips of ears and tails bring colour to the unblemished white of the fur “Speak friend and enter” an amused, deep and sensual voices flickers through the air, answered by a chuckle and a friendly “Silly mutt”
“Ah my friend,you know I am no mutt” the fox nods it head in a negative motion, stretching and jumping so to land on the hindlegs, walking like a human as the mist is twirling anew, bunching around the kitsune and vanishing as the figure is clad in a white kimono,silver foxes woven on it, joined in a dance.

“Yes, but we both know how much you enjoy it when we bicker” the genderless voice answers.
“What else is there that we can do? How I miss the old times. Now you just stroll around here, playing your damn flute. There is not even the option to get a proper tea. You and your damn way of honor” the fox ts´ks
“Ah you know…times change, but we still keep what defines us…you beau”
“You call me beau? You could really take a leaf out of my book ..” the fox chides, looking around and glaring at some pieces of modern times trash which are littering the ground.
“Sorry old friend, you know it clashes with my beeing, but I can not change that. Is there one of us who is not annoyed about that? I think not…”

And to the surprise of one fox, our nameless flutist appears out of the mist, wearing a kimono in different shades of green and brown, golden highlights like freckles of sunlight adorning it.
“Now are you pleased dear friend?” lowering the tray with the utensils for the tea ceremonie on the ground, an even matt of moss instead of a tatami.
“It is…sufficient” which paints a grin on both faces.

“We will always stay the same, won´t we?” a doe-eyed glance thrown to the fox after which the tea is prepared, the swish of the bamboo-beater the prominent sound for a while.
“Seems so” the kitsune nods, appearing pensive as he watches the unnamed youth, or rather the beeing, looking like a youthfull human.
“Just like the water” pouring a bit more from the iron tea pot.
Once fog or snow..or maybe ice before the sun changes the water. A drop of rain in a pond, a small stream down a hill, a trickle between rocks into the earth. And then when it joins the sea, the sun is pullling the small drops away again, changing it into an autumn fog or a summer rain. Always the same, deep down.

Wordless, in a caring gesture the tea is offered, taken with a nod, only with the slightest brush of fingers. Also wordless it is consumed, wallowing in the small luxury, the meaningfull ceremony.
And while the mist is thinning out, also the fur is changing from the spotless white to more of a gray, darker and darker until the fog is gone and the kitsune turned black.
A black as unblemished as the white was, the markings still the opposite.

“Time flies by with good company”
“Yes, even with the ones like you”
“Again reprimanding me my dear?”
“I wouldn´t dream of it” smug smiles on both faces, one of it showing too much teeth.

“So you will join the dance with me tonight?” the fox tilting his head, looking less questioning than he sounds, so sure of the outcome or maybe he just hopes that he can be sure what will happen, what the answer will be.
“You know how it is my friend” sounding apologetic to the kitsune, not meeting his eyes.
“Yes I know. But I really hope you will come. It is always sad when someone is not attending”
“Ah, I did not know that this is a feeling you are familiar with?” again a friendly teasing as the green and brown clad creature is taking the cup out of the kitsune´s hands, petting the clawed fingers, no longer just an accidential brushing but an earnest display of friendship, feelings.

And he returns the gesture, grabbing the hands before they can lower the cup back on the tray, squeezing them for only moments, then letting them go.
“I think I will meet you there..hopefully it will be a peacefull night my friend or I need to depart again soon” the cup making the tiniest of noises as it is set aside, just like a bell.

“That is also what I need to do now my dear”
Sadness seeping back into the wood like the tides changing from ebb to flow, even the sunglow seems less bright, dampened and a lonely cry sounding from afar.

Maybe just a bird.
Maybe the wind.
Maybe not.

“I will meet you tonight” a promise spoken, or just thought… by whom of them?
Wavering, drifting apart, turning transparent and the picture is dissolving like the mist did earlier.
Nothing remains, no footprints, no laughter.


The only witness... the withered skull and a broken tea cup.