Choices: a Metaphor for Life, for My Life

The little girl is dragged by her big sister and friend into the forest, stumbling over broken twigs and rugged tree roots concealed beneath the multicoloured leafy ground. Her older sister grasps her hand tightly, so as to prevent her from wandering astray. Rich aromas swirl around the forest; the tantalizing smells of the berries and fruit, teasing them, trying to tempt them to make wrong a turn. The little girl’s hair, tangled with the branches of the undergrowth, which she and her sister have just climbed through. Wind tugs wildly at her once white, now damp and muddy brown dress. Golden emerald light streams down, through the forest, filtered by the leafy canopy above.

The trees are dressed in green, bronze and honey coloured leaves, with the odd sprinkling of springy emerald mass. They are swaying softy to the rhythm of the forest which is teaming with life and the atmosphere of adventure. Leaves whisper tales of lost travelers and adventurers, lead astray by their mystical powers.

The path is cloaked in greenery with only the odd patch of worn, grey tarmac to be seen. The sun shines down generously; and warmth spreads across the forest floor. Flowers are littered around it, seemingly glowing all the colours of the rainbow; crimson, tangerine, lemon, lime, blue, violet and indigo.

‘Hurry up, come this way,’ her sister calls, whilst she and her friend giggle in excitement

‘Look there’s a path ahead, it’s clear and there are not many obstacles in the way.’ They giggle once again, pleased with their luck on this journey. Beaming at each other the two older girls jump up and down ecstatic.

‘I want to go home,’ whines the little girl, tears streaming down her face; she was obviously not enthusiastic about the adventure ...

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...hen she walked with her sister. North, East and West; the way is not so obvious now, not so easy to follow.

None of the paths are even and straight, all have twists and turns, ups and downs; some more so than others. Of course the bends in the paths made it impossible to see all the way down them. You can never predict where a forest path will lead. The trees cry out to her, beginning her to take their own path, weaving tales of joy, happiness and fun to persuade her to turn their way. Not knowing whether she should have turned left or right, she continues straight ahead, determined to find her way home.

But as she marches, something creeps up silently behind her, gradually sneaking closer waiting for its chance to pounce. If the girl were to turn now she would see nothing but her own shadow even if she knew what was stalking her through the lanky trees.