Behind the barn, our land bled into a small patch of woods, not large enough

Behind the barn, our land bled into a small patch of woods, not large enough to be called a forest but large enough to be a kingdom for a child.

There was a path — not official, just a line of slightly pressed-down grass where my siblings and I walked. In those woods, time felt thick. Not slow, exactly — full. The air had that damp-earth smell, and the canopy always seemed a little darker than it should have been.

I found my first animal skull there. A deer, bleached by winter. I held it like treasure, not understanding why I felt reverence instead of disgust. I didn’t know the word animism, but I felt it.

Those woods were my first chapel.