By Christina K Sangma
When going to my hometown, I’d often wonder if magic was real. Growing up, fairytales amused me, they made me curious, made me believe that maybe the world had more to offer than what we see. It was those stories that made me want to wander into the wild.
The forest, I believe, is a place full of beauty, and something far more enchanting. It holds secrets in its silence, whispers in its wind, and stories in its soil. Maybe it’s just my imagination, but I’ve always felt that forests have their own kind of magic, quiet, patient, and alive.
When I sit around the bonfire outside my village kitchen hut, I often look toward the forest. The flames dance, the air smells of woodsmoke, and beyond the orange glow, the woods stretch endlessly, dark, still, and waiting. I always imagine what it would be like if something stepped out from there. Not a fairy or a spirit, just something unknown but kind.
But there’s something more about those woods, something that feels like they’re calling out to me.
One night, when I might have been eleven or twelve, I went outside to the washroom that stood a few steps away from the hut. The night was thick with silence. The moon hung low, and everything seemed dipped in silver light.
As I walked, I stopped suddenly. The air felt different, softer, almost like it was humming. Then I heard it.
A faint tune. A song without words, rising and falling like the sound of leaves brushing together. It wasn’t from any house nearby, and it wasn’t the wind either. It was something deeper, something that seemed to come from the woods themselves.
It wasn’t frightening; it was peaceful. It felt like the forest was speaking, telling me to be calm, to listen. I stood there for what felt like minutes, my heart quiet, my eyes fixed on the trees. And then, just like that, the sound faded.
Since that night, I’ve never felt afraid of the dark, or of the woods. When I walk past fields or forests under the night sky, I feel that same quiet magic around me, like the trees are watching, protecting, whispering their secrets in the wind.
I’ve never tried to explain it to anyone. Some things aren’t meant to be explained.
Maybe what I heard that night wasn’t a song at all, maybe it was the earth breathing, the leaves moving, or my imagination running wild. But deep down, I think it was the forest’s way of saying, you’re not alone.
And ever since, I’ve carried that feeling with me, that soft, wordless magic that hides between shadows and moonlight, waiting for those who are willing to listen.
