The Woodsman

The Woodsman

"I'm just so - so tired of everything, I guess. Just stuck and losing hope. I used to think that something better was around the corner, at least have that delusion, but now, it's just work. Day in, day out. Two jobs most days, and the third as much as possible. No energy left for creating. Or even dreaming. I screwed up my life, and now this is it."

I was across the table from my friend Morag, warm cup of lemon chamomile tea in front of me. We were sitting in her unconventional front room. In most people's homes this would have been the living room, but for Morag it was more like a collection space of colored bottles, bright tapestries, varied rocks, and found objects.

I've always been drawn like a magnet to people who are outside the norm. Last summer I'd met Morag at a craft fair where she sold driftwood diviners, minerals, and crystals. Desperate for contact with a non-standard suburban human, we'd started chatting. She seemed grateful to not have someone insult her, since we lived in a very conservative small town where even saying Harry Potter risked the wrath of the narrow-minded. She'd also been impressed that I'd said her name with ease, and I confessed my obsession with all things Scottish and Irish. She'd mentioned a yard chore she needed help with, and I offered myself up as labor. We'd met for tea every few weeks ever since. I enjoyed her wise view on life, and I also took it as an opportunity to make sure things were okay around her home.

Morag had seen my down mood when I walked in, and she'd insisted I stop trying to put on a happy face and just talk to her about it. She was good at that, stripping off the veneer and going right for the soul.

"Oh dearie, you sound like you need a change. The winter doldrums have hit, haven't they?"

"And car problems, and inflation, and the greedy capitalists who delight in us plebs not getting ahead."

"Oh my, this does sound bad. Is it a fair guess that things did not go well on your date, either?"

"Oh he was awful. Fresh out of a relationship and trying to one-up his ex by getting some tail. He didn't get any of mine, of course."

"Men are so different these days. Blatant, I guess would be a good word for it. Also unchivalrous. Self-absorbed."

"Well said. He did remind me why I gave up dating for so many years. But I'd figured, I'm not getting any younger. I might as well try again before my looks are completely gone. That taught me. But I'll slip back into my cozy cat lady life. I did like it plenty once I got used to it."

"Oh my, don't do that, love. I know you were happy in a relationship once."

I was, but it was so long ago that I could barely remember what it was like to look forward to my boyfriend coming over for dinner after a long week, laughter and nurturing and then a night of hot passion that made time stand still and the morning birds sing with joy, the world a kinder place. Warm arms to make the bad day go away, a listening ear I could depend on. I'd hardened myself, only remembering the years of pain after the accident took him. I knew it was silly, but even the slight chance that I could love and lose again was excruciating to me. Better to focus on the other parts of life. That was all I had energy for.

"I know exactly what you need, dearie."

Oh no, she was about to get into some magic. Morag was much older than me, three decades, in fact. She'd long been a practicing witch - she proudly called herself that.

I felt the energy in the room shift. I swear I could hear the glass chimes tinkle, though I knew they had not. Morag was no longer merely a mature, wiser friend - she was again a conduit of spirit. This had happened several times since I'd met her, and I never knew quite what to do or how to feel about it. I had a tiny impulse to run out the door, my logical brain wanting to denounce it all. But I decided to ride the warmth and see what happened. It was always golden vibes, not dark ones. White light, not muddy. Morag came from generations of Celtic worshipers of nature.

I smiled. "What do I need, Morag?"

"You need the Woodsman. And fortunately, this is his time of year."

"Who is the Woodsman?"

"He's a spirit who lives in the woods, and he only appears to those in need."

"Those in need of what?"

"A good roll in the hay."

"Morag!" I was laughing at this unexpected twist in the conversation. My eyes opened to full mast as my head tilted in doubt.

"He saw you, actually, and he's the one who put me onto the idea."

"Saw me where?"

"In the woods, that nature preserve I took you to. He says you go there often."

"I do. It's my favorite place. I crave it every single day."

"Well, he noticed."

I hoped he hadn't noticed everything. Hiking in the woods was where I talked through problems with myself and let go, safe in the knowledge that no one was watching and that squirrels don't judge. For two decades now, ever since I'd been able to drive, I'd always found a trail to go for a walk in the evening and let myself be - to let nature remind me that I wasn't the center of the universe and that it had been operating on its own for millennia, even better before the humans, actually.

The trails Morag had shown me had quickly planted into my soul. Even in the dead of winter, I rarely went more than a couple days without sneaking over to commune with the forces that be.

But as openminded as I was, it was time for Morag to explain this wild man-spirit watching me in the woods.

"Many think Valentine's Day was made to honor martyred saints, but it was based on ancient values from long before that. In the Celtic tradition, Imbolc falls around the same time, and that honors Brigid, who celebrates sexuality and the pleasure in reproduction. Our story is that Brigid allowed the Woodsman to go on providing his services to womanhood after he made her so happy, for many generations now. That's the short of it, and I don't think you need the long."

"So this guy has been waiting around all year for centuries to sleep with unhappy women at Imbolc-slash-Valentine's Day? Am I getting that right?"

I did try to smile, though the idea was just out there. I was slightly amused.

"Believe it. I spent time with him myself."

"You are joking."

"I never jest about magic. You know that."

She did have a big smile on her face. Clearly some good memories, wherever they came from.

I sat for a minute, taking things in.

"I'm telling you, dearie, this is one experience you want. The window is next Thursday at sunset. To find him, you go to the southwest corner of the preserve, and you walk straight out."

I went through the directions in my mind. "Where the lovers all carved their initials into the trees? And the no trespassing signs are?"

"Yes, dearie, those signs are right where I put them. It's my land, so don't fret."

"I just pick my way through the brush there?"

"You'll see the way."

"Okay then."

There was a glimmer of something related in my mind's eye.

That was the corner of the trail where I'd always talk to my brother and my other folks who've passed on. I'd meditate. It had always felt like my special place, that corner. I hated when other hikers interrupted me there, and I felt cheated until my next walk.

"Wait, did he let me see him? A couple weeks ago I was walking through that spot and I saw a man in flannel and a hat with ear flaps on a nearby trail. I wondered how there was someone out, since there were no other cars in the parking lot. I knew I saw a man, clear as day, and then when I looked back he was gone."

"That was him."

Shit.

"Just think it over, dearie. I promise you'd enjoy it."

Lord knew I needed to enjoy something. Or someone.

"Remember this: Only good will come of it. No harm will come to ye or thee, as they say. One hour there is but a heartbeat here. You can leave any time you'd like - just walk out the way you came in.

"But enjoy, dearie. Leave the world behind for a spell. He'll be waiting.

'Life is but a day at most.'

"

*****

So here I was, slogging through the half-frozen mud, ice, and patches of snow. It had been an oddly mild winter, which resulted in a woodland so slippery I had to concentrate on every footfall. I'd nearly wiped out mounting one of the bridges, and the adrenaline high was still coursing through me. There was a flock of geese in the distance, untimely early for them, though I was glad to hear their chorus return.

I knew it was silly, but I'd showered after work just in case and I'd left my cats enough food and water for a week. That part felt downright ridiculous, because even if Morag's story was true they would not need it, if I could be gone for weeks there yet only minutes would pass here. But it felt better to do, just in case.

I hadn't known quite what to wear. My routine hiking outfit required zero thought, but should I put on fancy underwear? Try to sneak a dress or a cuter top underneath? Put a snack in my pocket just in case?

I did wear glasses though. There was no way I'd risk having to sleep in contacts.

I'd left my phone in my car just as Morag had advised, and sunset was indeed approaching, the sun falling slowly through the trees and turning a deep red-orange, the horizon tinged with purples. I'd processed my workday as I walked, hoping that would clear my mind and prepare me for what lay ahead, whichever way this went.

"Only good will come of it."

I supposed this meant that the usual perils of sex - pregnancy, diseases, months of crying because of hurt feelings - didn't apply with a spirit. Or something. And that I wouldn't actually miss work tomorrow or have my electricity turned off and dead cats if I stayed in the woods.

Whatever. Might as well see.

I slowed my steps even more as I approached the southwest corner, deep inside the trails. I was becoming more scared that there wouldn't be a path, I realized, now that I'd been looking forward to it. I didn't need another disappointment this winter.

The last glow of sun was now straight behind the trees as I came around the bend. I focused on the pond reflection - to delay knowing my fate and therefore having to accept it.

But I took a deep breath, and I turned my head, ready to know.

The path was there.

The brush was normally dense and nothing but deer could pass through, even in winter, so the open path was glaringly obvious. And it was a worn path, setting naturally into the trees and looking as though it had always been there.

So now I knew, and I could decide.

I decided to think no more. I took a step down the path, and I kept walking.

The music surprised me first. It was like ambient nature sounds mixed with drowsy melodies, calming spa music with the occasional soft chime and harp. It was lovely and ethereal. Heavenly, I supposed.

I listened as I followed the path downhill, snaking around trees. I could no longer see the nature preserve behind me, the trails I knew so well, but I wasn't fearful. I felt a warmth and light drawing me forward through the snow.

The woods changed from varied deciduous to conifer, mainly pine, with a little scrub beneath them. The walking became easier and the path spongy with many layers of needles. I picked up speed now that it was no longer slippery.

And then I saw it - a cabin in the woods. It was a cabin of squared-off logs, clearly rustic and hewn with hand tools. I smelled the wood fire burning and saw a wisp of smoke rising from the stone chimney. There was a wide porch with wood piled beneath the eaves. The dark browns and gray tones of the cabin stood against the glimmering snow blanketing the clearing around it, and the last hints of red-purple sunset were in the woods beyond. Candlelight shone through the windows. It was like a cozy winter painting.

Footprints were all around the cabin, I noticed. So someone was there.

"Hello," a man said as he rounded a corner of the cabin. He was pulling a cart of more hewn logs. He had a big grin on his face.

Yes, it was the man I'd seen. Flannel shirt, ear-flap hat, and everything. The Woodsman.

"Morag said you might come."

"She did, eh?"

I couldn't help but smile at his hearty welcome. What had I gotten myself into?

"She did. We are old friends."

"I'm not exactly sure what she's brewed up here, but I thought I'd come meet you anyway."

The man gentled and relaxed his smile, clearly realizing how odd I must feel in whatever altered realm or dimension or in-between-worlds space I'd gotten myself into. No doubt he'd had to cut through this weirdness with many of his lonely, sex-starved refugees.

"There's no pressure. No rush whatsoever. But you do look like you could use some ale and a warm fire. Go on in, and make yourself at home. I'll stack this pile and be in soon. Then I'll tell you about me."

Well, he didn't seem like an axe murderer, and I did trust that Morag had my best interests at heart. I nodded and climbed the wooden steps with care. I glanced back as I opened the door, and he was calmly grabbing logs to carry up onto the porch. He gave me a patient smile.

The cabin was as cozy as the candlelit windows had promised. Something smelled good, too, in the large pot hanging on a hook in the fireplace. One corner of the cabin had a tall sideboard and rectangular table, two bowls, napkins, and spoons already set in place and a vase of wildflowers in the center with a plate of bread and butter. Two padded armchairs sat directly in front of the fire with a small table between them. A high, wide bed was in the far corner, covered with downy duvets and pillows. There was a shelf of books on the back wall and a few lovely rustic touches. It was like a pioneer homestead museum but truly ready for someone to live there.

I supposed this was all one really needed, a comfortable stripped-down home perfect for survival in the woods. Warmth, food, and abundance in its own way.

I would make myself comfortable, then, since the cabin looked ready for it. I took off my muddy boots and placed them by the door, padding around in my hiking socks. The crackling fire was already making me warm, so I slid off my puffy coat and found a hook above my boots.

I sheepishly walked toward the fire and decided to wait in a comfy chair, putting my tired feet up on an ottoman. In a moment my curiosity overwhelmed me, and I sprang back up to look at the bookshelf. I've never been able to resist looking at a person's books - they are a glimpse into the soul who holds them.

Before I could get that glimpse, though, in the dim light, I heard the cabin door swing open with a wee squeak. The Woodsman stood there and smiled lightly at me again as he closed it.

He spoke as he slid off his boots and hung up his flannel jacket. Taking off his hat revealed brown hair with the loveliest curls.

"You like books, do you? I should have guessed. Thank you for waiting. I sense snow coming tonight, and I wanted to be ready in case it falls deep. I bet you're famished. I certainly am. Would you like some soup?"

"I sure would. It smells fabulous."

"Come to the table, then, and we'll have that talk I promised you."

I smiled a little as I padded over and sat on a bench.

"This is lovely," I said, as I looked over the meal spread in front of me. "The wildflowers are a nice touch."

"I picked them myself."

The Woodsman ladled soup out for us, and I was grateful not to have to deal with the old-timey pot and the flames so early in this process.

It was really delicious chicken and dumpling soup, which had always been my favorite. Paired with rustic bread and farm butter, it was the most comforting meal possible.

I decided to be bold, once we'd eaten a bit. I doubted I could offend this man-spirit, who for sure had heard it all before.

"This is yummy. So, the story is — you once gave Brigid so many orgasms that she let you live forever fucking lonely women? Goddess Brigid, not the saint, I gather."

He laughed.

"Well, that's not exactly it. But it's rather like, I did well at human life, after a few tries at it, and I made some women happy. I lived in a good way. I leveled-up, your generation would say.

'If there's another world, he lives in bliss. If there is none, he made his best of this.'

"

"That's Robert Burns. I just cooked for his birthday, Burns Night."

"My gift, oddly, was loving women and appreciating them as they are. I do. And now I get the gift of sometimes being in a body in this in-between world, and I get to enjoy it. Using my gift."

"Wow." I honestly didn't know what to say.

"It's okay. I know none of this is normal in the human world and you'd end up in an asylum for repeating it. But I also know you're more spiritual than most."

"I guess."

"You're here, aren't you? I'll give you a glimpse of your home, just to prove it."

Woodsman reached across the table and put his fingertips to my forehead. I saw my living room. I knew I'd been away for about an hour, but the clock said the exact minute of sunset that day, 5:46. My cats were sleeping right where I'd left them.

"Okay. You know women well. I think I can relax now."

I took a deep breath and decided to enjoy the rest of my soup and buttery, crusty bread.

"It's kind of like reparations to women who've been done wrong by society and/or an individual man or men. Humans have perverted sexuality greatly and added shame and darkness to what was meant as a gift and a joy. Your generation isn't as bad as the past couple hundred years, but jeez. I wish you all could have felt it a couple thousand years ago. Those were good times."

I just let all of that wash over me. This was not a conversation I had every day.

"I could see it on your face some days when you walked through the woods here - the heaviness you carry, the lover you lost. Then I asked your brother about it, because you know all spirits know each other. He told me why you no longer trust. Don't worry, I won't make you tell that story again. You won't see your brother, though, I'm so sorry, and yes I knew you'd wonder that. He doesn't come to this realm. He's doing other work right now. But you have this time here with me, if you want it, and I think you might."

I let that sink in. The sadness crept in, and I looked at the fire.

"He did send you a stock of chocolate, though. It's pretty hard to get here, and he knew you'd want it."

"That was sweet of him."

"I can tell you're overwhelmed. You also worked all day, and I bet the students were naughty with the holiday coming up. They've been like that always. Yes, I know you're a teacher. Why don't we move over to the fire and have some ale? Then we'll get a good night's sleep. That's what you need tonight."

"Yes, candy holidays make students the craziest. Just the anticipation. I bet I could sleep for a week."

I didn't normally drink beer, or drink at all, but I figured when you're in some alternate dimension why not try everything. And it was pretty good. Comforting.

So he wasn't expecting mind-blowing sex from me instantly. Phew.

"No, I see your face, you are under no obligation to do anything at all. Good sex only comes from both parties being all-in. And of course you need some time to adjust here. You're human."

He smiled at his own mild joke.

"Can you read my mind? Are you like programmed, kind of a spirit sex-robot or something?"

"Not even close. I get impressions sometimes - almost like a glimpse into your mind's eye and what you want but won't say. But it's also my talent to help you feel confident enough, eventually, to communicate and not be ashamed. Enough talk. Let's just be. Another thing your era struggles with. You can ask me more questions later."

This time, I smiled. I couldn't argue with what I told my students all the time.

"Since you like Burns, may I read you a poem? Every era I get new books, and fortunately they improve. This Rabbie Burns, though, has been with me for centuries. He's a classic for a reason."