czarnulacom

I woke up today an hour before my alarm. But the sun was already up before me. I lingered, still wrapped in the resonant serenades of birdsong, breathing in the scent of blooming lilacs. Bits and pieces of sleep tangled in my mind, slowly giving way to the stirring thoughts of the morning.

This is the day of goodbye. Luna, as if sensing what’s about to happen, restlessly paces the bedroom, sniffing the still-empty suitcases and backpacks.

We step outside into the garden. I take in the flowers, the trees, the now-empty chicken coop. Nostalgia washes over me. This is the last time I’ll see it all. I glance at Luna, who seems to feel the same.

Beyond the fence, the forest calls us, glittering with dew in the light of the early sunrays. It’s a bit sad to leave this place—this home, this garden, this forest. For so many good years, it was my refuge. Here, I lived so many beautiful moments, so many experiences.

Holding a travel mug of coffee, I open the gate and we walk into the forest. One last time. We go to say goodbye to Mr. Kempka, who stands bravely on his stump, unchanged. It was dry, hot days when I sprinkled him with water to cool him down. Wintertime when I checked under a blanket of snow that all was well.

Luna also says goodbye, softly nudging him with her nose. I say farewell to each tree, one by one—sometimes hugging them, sometimes brushing my palms against their bark.

I sit on the soft grass and moss beneath a tree. Luna happily circles around. With a sigh, we merge into the birdsong, summoning memories.

Of fawns startled so badly they nearly ran into me, fleeing from the wind.
Of a tiny squirrel who stole a nut and dashed up a tree.
Of baskets overflowing with mushrooms, gifts my generous forest gave me each year.

A wonderful place. How many times have I cried here from happiness? How many times have I listened to the wind?

I finish my coffee. I must admit, this is the best spot for it. It tastes the sweetest here.

I get up and, without warning, Luna delivers a well-aimed blow to my legs with a stick.
“Well, thank you, darling,” I laugh at her—I think the stick’s a bit too big.

Luna tries to drag the three-meter branch, battering me and the trees.

We approach my beloved tree—the enormous beech in the middle of the forest, its branches reaching high to the sky. I hug it tight. Tears run down my cheeks. This is my old friend—the keeper of sorrows and joys.

It’s so wide I can’t wrap my arms around it. I lean my forehead against it, sobbing, saying goodbye to my companion.

In the creaking of the old wood, I feel comforting words:
Don’t grieve. Don’t fear. My roots are so powerful that wherever you stop—even at the edge of the world—I will be there. In other trees, flowers, grass, shrubs. In your memories. I will always be.

I stay embraced a moment longer until the last tear sinks into the bark. I feel the weight of sadness and fear for what’s new simply melting into the earth, into oblivion. In its place comes lightness and peace.

“Thank you, my beautiful Beech.”

I continue up the slope where I take one last look at the valley, wave goodbye to the mighty hawks.

I shout at the top of my lungs—
Hey, valley!

For the echo to return distorted,
valley… valley… valley…

The sadness and sorrow vanish. Nostalgia fades away. With head held high, courage, and renewed joy, I am ready.

We set off toward the new.

I hug Luna, and for one last time, we dissolve in wonder at the beauty surrounding us…