The House Of Bliss Forest

The trees are thick along the running trail through Bliss Forest. Encompassing, towering, and seemingly endless; the thicket of trees and the layers of plants and foliage blanket the forest and cage the sun through thick wooden fingers. The rangers maintain the running trail exquisitely. The path through the forest is prominent and routinely trampled. Athletes and running groups are only a fraction of the traffic on the running trail through Bliss Forest. Characters of all sorts wander the forest for reasons of exercise, tranquility, escape, and thought. I have a black and white tuxedo puppy of the Blackmouth Cur variety and I love showing her the world through the spiraling wonderland in the forest. We will be there again soon. The leaves are changing. My puppy and I will escape through the rustling of the fallen leaves and explore the Autumn colors while she smiles brightly and drinks from the cool streams. We will trot with no particular purpose and receive smiles from joggers and walkers alike, and we will march to the tune of adventure.

It is in this adventure that we will immerse ourselves in the dense dream of Autumn. The dream is surreal and centers deep in the forest, upon an old brick house with one lonely light emitting through a small window on the ground floor. The house is pushed against the woods, perhaps not more than a hundred feet from the running trail. The front of the house appears to be facing the long dead-end of a neighborhood drive. Although a part of a small subdivision, there are no neighboring houses in sight. The house along the Bliss Forest running trail has made the forest its community instead. Smoke plumes from the chimney and the solitary light in the tiny window begins to glow just before dusk. The house along the running trail has no backyard or patio of any kind. That is to say, the forest itself clings to the back door.  The neighborhood grows away from the forest. The old brick house is rooted with the trees. The roots are potted in obscurity, speculation, and oblivion.

My puppy zig-zags along the trail, incapable of staying to one side. She leaps and crouches in surprise of the bicyclists whizzing past. She runs ahead of me, occasionally looking back to make sure I am still with her, and she is lost in her own world of wonder. The forest is home to much of her imagination. She barks at the harmless rustling of hallow clumps of leaves off the beaten trail. She barks and then she smiles. There is not much she is willing to slow down for. When she does slow down, her nose twitches and dances in the air. She senses my fascination as we slow down in unison in the distant sight of the old brick house. We smell the sweet wood burning in the fireplace. We step closer, slowly, together. My fascination grows and her ears are perked and her tail is alert. There is no cause for alarm. The house is solid. The house is solitary. The house has no interest in the world beyond the forest and the trail. We are in no danger and our fascination is growing. We are alone now. We have not seen another trailblazer in over half an hour.

It is an unassuming house with no theme at all but a cozy, lonely house in its own haunted milieu. The chimney plumes and we stare. Foliage crunches around the bend of the trail and the hairs on my puppy's back stand firmly. An elderly woman in a cheerful sweater with two elderly dogs, wearing mangy sweaters of their own, trundles around the bend and my puppy relaxes her fur and wags her tail in delight. The old woman walks with a smile slowly towards us. The old woman eases in to a stop by our side and my puppy eagerly pounces in the faces of her dogs. I apologize and give a gentle tug of the leash. The old woman giggles and assures me it is okay. She asks us if we are admiring the house. I tell her we are. The friendly old dogs take a seat on the trail and my puppy sidles in next to them. The dogs smile together and catch their breath from the excitment. The old woman and I stare towards the house in silence for a few seconds.

The old woman asks if I am enjoying the fall colors. I tell her I always do. I confide in her that October is my favorite month of the year. We talk of October and Halloween. She tells me how she dresses her old dogs in ridiculous rags and eagerly waits for the trick-or-treating children. She loves to see the children taking to the streets in spooky merriment for candy. The parents trail somewhat closely in their own groups with beer and wine thermoses. I wonder if the children will be rapping on the door of the house along the Bliss Forest running trail. I wonder this aloud. The old woman tells me the children always frequent the house for Halloween. The old woman says that her house along the trail is an old-time favorite of the children. The children love to see her and her dogs in costume rags.

The only thing my mouth can say is that her home is lovely. My mind is racing with questions, but my mouth keeps it simple and polite. She does have a lovely home. The old woman must be going. Her dogs struggle to regain their footing and then they are slowly moving once again. I say my goodbyes and I take my attention off their departure for a moment and they are gone. We must be going, too. The sun is setting soon. We were lost in October. It is time to make our pilgrimage back through the forest before the beautiful fall colors disappear in darkness.

The sun sets quickly. We follow the remnants of light, scurrying back to the parking area within the entrance of the forest. The sun leaves us for the day and the headlights on my car are the only light in the forest. My puppy jumps into the passenger side of my car and I roll her window down halfway. She pops her head out with a smile and bids her own farewells to the forest she now loves. We take a slow scenic drive through the forest and out into the neighboring subdivision. We drive slowly through the neighborhood, amidst the scattered herds of trick-or-treaters. My puppy hangs a paw and her head out the window, shouting playful barks at them. The children wave and some of them even bark back at her and laugh.

We cruise through the festive suburban street, under the shines of street lamps, reaching the cul-de-sac at the end of the neighborhood. We ease in to the loop, around and pass the old woman's house in front of the forest. The old brick house welcomes an assemblage of trick-or-treaters to its secluded doors. A patch of eight large pumpkins with carved glowing faces brighten the otherwise darkened porch steps. Treats are given, laughter is shared, and tails wag under frumpy costume rags. The old woman looks up to see us passing by and she waves an excited hand. We exchange smiles and we must be going once again. There is a silly dog sweater for the purpose of Halloween waiting in our home, still in the bag with the price tag on it. There are bags of candy still needing a bowl. There is a marathon of 90's horror films and cold drinks in the fridge. Switch on all the outside lights. There is still Halloween.

We knew the house as the house of October and I wonder if the old brick house, somewhat separated from its subdivision, assumes new identities for every season and holiday. From the falling leaves, to the blankets of snow, the spring rains, and the calm summer nights, surrounded by the forest and entrenched in its own imagination; the house along the Bliss Forest running trail is a story in October, another in December, and another in April, and another in July. The house changes with the changes in the air. October was the time and moment for us. October was a wonderful time for stories and imagination. The house will provide more stories throughout the seasons to come. Explore with your dog and simply look through the trees.