the forest of fairy chasm

I grew up on the shores of Lake Michigan in southeastern Wisconsin. The neighborhood I lived in was called Fairy Chasm. It was a beautiful place to be a child.

There was a forest next to my house that stretched for thousands of miles along the coast. If you lost your way in that sprawling labyrinth of oak and pine, it would surely take years to find your way out. Perhaps, if you were lucky, you might come across one of the many moss kingdoms that were scattered throughout the woods. You could enter through the rotten gates and climb your way to the tops of the towering wooden spires, where you could plead for help with the great lords. They would look down at you pityingly from upon their thrones of pungent fungus, their robes of iridescent moss flowing majestically around them and crowns of perfect white birch on their heads. Perhaps, after much begging, they would send you on your way with a map and a bag of supplies so could survive the long journey through the forest.

If you weren't so lucky you could lose your way in the gloom marshes, places where the sun never reaches the ground. Trees of absurd height blot out the sky, and soupy mists obscure the treacherous ground. Sinkholes are everywhere, all leading to the depths of a giant subterranean ocean. You might fall into one and slip downwards into the ancient green water, clawing at nothing but old roots as you descend. If you could hold your breath for long enough perhaps you would survive and wash up on the pitch-black shores of that great sea under the earth. You would feel your way way across the sandy grit for weeks until you found a spiral stairway leading upward. After climbing the miles to the surface you might emerge under a magnificent weeping willow, whose endless tears feed a small and winding creek. If you followed this creek it would take you through the land of skeleton trees where no flora or fauna lived, except for the fearsome but tiny mite trolls. If you minded your wits and kept away from the mite trolls' patrols, you could find follow the creek to its mouth where it released itself into the lake Michigan. You might decide to build a hut on the beach, from whale bones and giant pomegranate shells and moss, and wait for a ship to come. It may be years before you see one, but when you do, you could ignite your incensed pyre of fossils and twigs so that the ship might notice and come to your rescue.

If the ship is not attacked by large mollusks nor capsized by fearsome typhoon winds, you may make it back to your neighborhood, where you can regale your friends and family with your many stories of adventure in the forest of Fairy Chasm.