Chapter 6

You better find somebody to love - G. Slick

A cool and misty dawn broke upon the marsh. The skies were leaden slate and pregnant with a coming rain. On a grassy knoll, a muddied figure lay in a deep sleep beneath a woolen blanket. She looked like Brer Rabbit's tar-baby and her breathing was an irregular, yet satisfied snoring. The lone figure rolled over in her slumber and snapped to a wakeful alertness. With a retching groan, she hoisted herself to a leaning position. Every muscle in her body ached and every joint was rigid in stiffness. Her world was dark, her eyes burned and her throat was sore and parched. The ebony figurine clawed the thick mud away from her nose and gagging, spat several times on the neighboring grass.

Brenda raised a hand to her face and her fingers wiped at the semi-dry mulch that obscured her vision. The caked peat freely crumbled away from the waking woman's face. Brenda delicately brushed the remaining traces and specks away from her irritated peepers with delicate dabs of her fingertips. The first item to come into Brenda's focus was a brandy bottle with two fingers of the elixir remaining inside.

Sitting upright, she snatched up the glass vessel and fumbled its cap off with shaking hands. Brenda raised the bottle to her muddied lips and poured half a mouthful across her tongue. The sweet liquid burned like hell, and she spun her head to the side to spit it out. The small trickle that rolled down Brenda's esophagus felt scalding hot, but it settled with a warming glow in the pit of her tummy. A second swallow was received more favorably. By the time that Brenda took her third swill of the heady dew, she found herself tentatively stretching her tortured muscles and taking stock of her condition in general.

The negligée she wore was muddy, but only a small section of the gauze rickrack had been ripped. Brenda ventured a fourth and final quaff of the sweet liquor and tossed the empty jug near her backpack. She focused on the still and wooden sentinel the seemed to remain as he always had. "How did I end up here? " Brenda thought. She slipped out of the mud-soaked nightgown and tossed it near her pack.

Her scanning vision was drawn to the pond's bottom. Brenda saw that it was torn asunder from an area near the quagmire's shore to footing of the grassy hillock, where she sat. Her feelings were a mixture of gratitude, affection and admiration for her Old Man of the Woods. He had pleased her as Brenda had hoped he would and the Maple had saved her from her near-fatal foolishness on the marsh. She realized the tremendous energy he must have expended to deposit his benumbed lover at the comfort of her blanketed nest.

The bright green stimulator was still perched in the tree's bole and it drew her attention. Brenda walked out to the giant Maple with a sore and teetering shuffle. Every few steps, the groggy lady would stop to shed some mud. She had been completely submerged in the quaking morass and every inch of her was caked with black muck. Brenda rubbed her hands back along her cheekbones and clumps of humus fell at her feet. She gently teased small wads of earth from her ears with her pinky. Her hands explored her matted mane and broke up the solid chunks, which flew free when she shook her head.

By the time Brenda had reached the Old Man of the Woods, only a few small clots of peat remained on her skin. Her hide remained richly tinted from the warm, dark brew of the swamp, although some of the blonde highlights in her hair were still intact. Standing a yard from the Maple's trunk, Brenda folded her arms, cocked her aching hips and recalled the pleasures of the previous night. In the distance, a low gravelly grumble of thunder sounded.

With arms spread widely, Brenda bridged the last few feet and hugged the tree's stalk. " Thank you, " she murmured passionately, " you made every moment wonderful for me. "

"You gave me great pleasure also, " responded a silvery lilt in her mind.

"How did I please you? " asked Brenda.

"Well first of all, I am very sensitive to you where we touched, " explained the Old Man of the Woods.

"Secondly, " he continued, " I was in my element and very comfortable. "

"Finally, my sensory perception varies from yours. When we are in contact, I can feel what you feel and know what you know. Our exchange of passions echoes back and forth between us, ever accelerating, until even my senses are overwhelmed by their magnitude. "

After a moment of contemplation the amorous woman asked, " Are there any physical signals that you are being satisfied? "

"I don't tremble or have orgasms, " responded the Maple,

"but I am gratified no less than you are. I can sense that you must go now. First, I would like to give you a gift of remembrance. "

"I would be pleased to accept your gi... ! " Brenda purred, not completing the sentence as her head rocked back and her mind was flooded with information. Her Old Man of the Woods had implanted into Brenda's memory every sight, sound and feeling that he had known in his three hundred and twenty six years since germination. The influx subsided and Brenda relaxed, knowing of her gift. It was like receiving a library full of favorite books, but her mind had yet to master how to sort through them.

"Thank you, " soothed Brenda appreciatively, " It will be so good to know you so well. " The rolling of thunder erupted much closer now and a couple of large raindrops struck her exposed back. A second loud peal resounded and as it faded, a steady rain was upon them.

Brenda enfolded her arms about the trunk tightly and wished that she could melt into it to become one with the Swamp Maple. She felt that she would be protected, beloved and complete if only she could do so. A flash of lightning seared the gray morning sky and the crackling detonation of thunder was at its heels.

"Go now quickly, but remember me always, " stated the tree solemnly.