I turned the corner, and by chance, as if in a fairy tale or poem, I stood facing a brick arch way about twice my height. It had been abandoned for some time, for the plants and moss were converging on their ancestral grounds; the beginning of a long journey toward nature’s retribution.

There was a track, of sorts, leading into the arch way and down a dark tunnel that cut under the forest floor. My senses were consumed by an eerie feeling — eerie and queer — and I hesitated to explore further. But, as a man driven by query, I knew walking on was not an option; I’m compelled to explore.

Flashlight in hand, I began my march. Unsure of what — or who — lived inside, I picked up a sturdy, bat-sized stick.

In just 10 meters, the sounds of the forest dropped away. Nothing pierced the silence save a few drops of water which fell from cracks in the roof, and back onto the ground from whence they came.

There were bugs and lizards scurrying as I walked by. The air smelled of nature’s damp musk. Scents familiar to the worms, the insects, and the moles, but foreign to me. Life in the dark, guided by pheromones and olfaction, moisture and stable temperatures; a life lived by long since diverged cousins of mine.

My anxieties vanished, I dropped the stick, and sat in awe of the beautiful simplicity. I felt the texture of the rough brick on my skin, I heard the sounds of the air and the water as a biotic symphony, and I smelled the drab scents as a unifying cologne.

In the blink of an eye, I would be back here, under the ground, and devoid of all my senses. But in this moment, I felt at peace with my destiny. To join the worms, the insects, and the moles will be the consummation of us all.

In the ground from whence we came.