I went to the Lady of the Wood because my heart was heavy with grief.

“Please,” I said. “I cannot bear this weight. If I cannot be rid of it, it will surely kill me.” 

The Lady of the Wood gazed down at me from her lichen-spotted throne. A crown of antlers adorned her head. Her hair was the color of autumn leaves. 

“What would you have me do?” she asked. 

“I need your magic to heal me. I will pay any price.” 

The Lady of the Wood gave a thoughtful nod. “If that is so,” she said, “you must work for a spell.” 

So she gave me a hoe and a handful of seeds, and I planted a field of flowers. She gave me a ladder and a pair of shears, and I pruned dead limbs from a tree. She gave me a needle and a spider’s thread, and I darned the holes in her cloak. I helped a beaver build a dam. I returned a baby bird to a nest. I soothed a doe in labor. When the work was done, my muscles ached and the nape of my neck was damp with sweat.

“I have done what you asked,” I said. “Please, will you heal me now?”

The Lady of the Wood stood beside me, wrapped in her mended cloak of green. 

“First,” she said, “you must sing for a spell.” 

So she gave me a lute and a stone for a chair, and I sat and plucked at the strings. She gave me mallets and a deerskin drum, and I beat out the rhythm of my anger. She gave me a hanky and a flute carved from bone, and I played until tears filled my eyes. From the birds I learned the song of sorrow. From the chipmunks I learned the song of spirit. From the river I learned the song of relief. When the music-making was done, my voice was hoarse and my palms were rough with callouses. 

“I have done what you asked,” I said. “Please, will you heal me now?”

The Lady of the Wood took my hands. Her fuzzy ears twitched with the forest’s many sounds. 

“First,” she said, “you must rest for a spell.”

So I sat with my back to an old elm, and I drifted in and out of dreams. As I rested, mushrooms sprouted from the column of my neck. Mice built their nests in the pockets of my clothes. Moss covered my shoulders and knees like snow on the mountain peaks. I watched the sun rise and fall a thousand times, each day a different, irreplicable beauty.

When I woke, the weight of my grief had not lessened. But I found I had grown stronger around it, firm and limber like a tree, and I knew I could carry it with me. 

“I do not need your magic after all,” I told the Lady of the Wood. “I believe I am healed already.”

And the Lady smiled at me.