Upon a foliage covered mountain in far away Malaysia lays a hidden grove; a plain of lush green. Privacy is the theme and no man dares to disturb it. Mother Nature holds claim to this clearing and surrounds her kingdom in a veil of silence. Unsuspecting strangers, meandering through freshwater streams, may chance upon this land, as Lucy found Narnia in the back of a wardrobe. And so it seems that as you step out of the tree line, a picture straight out of a fairy tale awaits you.
An orchard, not of apples, but of sweet bliss, one may rest their feet and ponder the meaning of all things well in the world. Crickets chirping, cicadas whirring, nature is its own soundtrack; a small orchestra performing for those who take the time to listen. Buried in this tune is a musician’s paradox and even the bright-minded retract their thoughts and lie down to enjoy the song. What mortal instrument can express the sorrows of the Earth; yet, at the same time, create in the listener a feeling of unhindered joy? The subliminal hum takes the form of an arrow, aimed at your heart. Then, all of a sudden, the power of the Song hits you. Feelings buried deep within, pain and anger stuffed between old memories, these are all released in a torrent upon entering the clearing. Nostalgia sinks in and you begin to reminisce. Happy moments, sad moments, your first breakup, that one time you got a Game Boy Color for Christmas, the flood of memories overload even the complex mechanics of the mind and leave you lightheaded, blinking shreds of the past out of your eyes. The Song has entered you; the intoxicating tune flirts around in the small cavern of our skulls, never to be forgotten.

And yet, forgetfulness is the medicine prescribed in heaping doses by the grove. Reality, or rather, the world beyond the tree line, melts away and everything is seen in sepia tones with each miniscule detail sharpened a thousand times over. A leaf falls from a branch. Usually disregarded, the leaf is seen as something sacred. It is true; in fact, that the grove exudes an aura of benevolence, as it is beholden to those who have drank in its sight.
To be there on a cool summer night, to observe moonlight flitting between the branches of the overhanging trees is to enter a land of wonder. A bird and its mate nestle together in a cozy nest, content in the knowledge that Mother Nature watches over them in their sleep. And in the same fashion, one may spend hours cradled in Her deep embrace, not knowing that as they sit, hours and days pass by in the blink of an eye. Empires may rise and fall, but the grove, in all its majesty, will be there, forever and always. Each tree, a proud guardian of its charge, speaks of ages past, of a time when indigenous tribes frequented the clearing and acknowledged nature as their only sovereign.
However! Do not be deceived by the relative calmness of the land. Beneath what human eyes perceive there is an invisible world that no science may describe. A squirrel, woken by the first glorious rays of sun, squirms out of its domicile and begins the search for sustenance. As the grove connects all things in it, a human, who sees this squirrel’s plight is obliged to help. Seeing nuts and foodstuff on the forest floor, the fellow compiles them in a selfless act of compassion. The hungry critter, who upon seeing this mountainous pile of stomach fillers, chirps happily into the sky and begins transporting his new find into a tree hollow. Man, oftentimes viewed as a pervasive species, can learn to coexist with nature. The grove, wise from years upon this Earth, teaches this lesson, so that those who learn from it may bring this knowledge back to civilization.
Alas, its words go unheeded and “human production” carries forward inexorably. One day, the grove will be gone. Gone are the lively fireflies that inhabit the orchard. Gone is the crystal pond and beautiful flora in the center of the clearing. Gone are the resilient trees that hide the grove away from human notice. Gone! Many will return before they leave this Earth and find that their sanctum has been overrun by society’s steel shod shoes. Still, the grove lives in the spirits of those who find it. As we have left a part of ourselves in that place, so does the land give us a part of itself for us to carry in our hearts. And that is the one precious tidbit of comfort for the souls who hold the grove in themselves: the grove never dies. It lives in their memories and whispers lullabies to them in their slumbers.

So it is that sometimes, as I enter my dream state, images of a clear twilight sky bloom in my mind and my yearning soul is placed back into that wonderful paradise. Again, the soft caress of the wind lifts me up, the grass beneath my feet crunches softly, and the moon shines its cleansing light upon the land. Perhaps I am just grasping at a fading memory, perhaps my eyes will never again alight upon a haven such as the one described ever again.
In the month of October, I received word that a development company had destroyed the forest in the area and I can only imagine that this grove has been wiped off the face of this Earth. Opponents justify this unutterable act by stating dumbly, “The land was just sitting there. It was about time someone came and developed it”. Now, because of these developers, my once beautiful dream has become a nightmare, a knowledge that now, forever and always, my haven is gone. My one true connection to the stars, smothered and put out like a flame in a pool of wax.

"This will certify that the above work is completely original, Austin Trinh".