Somewhere between remembering and forgetting, there is a forest.
A woman wakes beneath the trees and begins to lose her sense of what is real, what is remembered, and what has been forgotten.
The forest seems to know things she no longer does.
There is a fox who first watches from between the trees, then begins to speak. There are blackberries that may be nothing more than fruit, or something much more. A cup beside the creek. A house with a blue door. A little girl with her hands. A mother who looks younger than she does. Photographs that seem to remember more than she can.
As the boundaries between memory and imagination begin to dissolve, the forest becomes both strange and familiar. A place where grief can take shape, where the past can return in unexpected forms, and where forgetting may not mean losing everything.
The Forest is a quiet, dreamlike collection of short vignettes about memory, grief, love, identity and letting go.
Tender, unsettling and open to interpretation, it is a book to be entered rather than explained, and one that may mean something entirely different depending on what the reader brings with them.