Listen here, little bird.
Pull that stump closer to the fire and stop fidgeting.
You’ve come asking why the old witch laughs when the road twists unexpectedly. Why she grins when a door opens where there was only a wall the day before. Why she trusts strange little signs that make no sense to sensible people.
Well.
Because the forest has been teaching me for a very long time.
When I was young, I thought life was a straight road.
Ha!
The forest laughed so hard it nearly shook the leaves from the trees.
Life is not a straight road.
Life is a rabbit trail.
It doubles back on itself.
It disappears into the brambles.
It crosses rivers without bridges.
It wanders through heartbreak and hunger and darkness and loss.
Sometimes it leaves you sitting alone beneath the pines wondering if you have become lost forever.
And then…
Just when you’ve given up looking for magic…
A jackalope appears.
Ah, yes.
The jackalope.
That ridiculous beast.
Half rabbit.
Half antelope.
Half memory.
Half dream.
A creature sensible people insist does not exist.
Which is exactly why I trust it.
When I was a little girl wandering the mountains and lakes of my childhood, the jackalope was everywhere. Hanging on walls. Watching from dusty corners. Peeking from restaurants and trading posts and gas stations.
The grown-ups swore they were real.
And because I was still wise enough to be a child, I believed them.
Years passed.
The world tried to teach me seriousness.
Responsibility.
Sacrifice.
Duty.
The heavy words.
The words that make grown people forget how to play.
Forget how to wonder.
Forget how to listen.
And while I carried those heavy words, I lost many things.
I lost certainty.
I lost comfort.
I lost pieces of myself.
I lost beloved companions.
I lost hair.
I lost dreams.
I lost entire versions of the woman I thought I was supposed to become.
The forest was not gentle.
The forest rarely is.
But the strange thing about losing your way is that eventually you stop following maps.
You begin following your feet.
Your heart.
Your instincts.
The moon.
The crows.
The mushrooms.
The whispers.
And one day you discover that the path was never gone.
You were simply walking with your eyes closed.
So I opened mine.
And the forest began to answer.
Animals arrived.
Children arrived.
Artists arrived.
Circus folk and storytellers and dreamers arrived.
Old dreams climbed out from dusty corners and brushed themselves off.
Doors opened.
Then more doors opened.
Then still more.
Until the old witch found herself standing in a theater, learning a new craft, surrounded by possibility.
And there—
perched upon the wall—
sat a jackalope.
Watching.
Waiting.
Smirking.
As if to say,
“Took you long enough.”
And suddenly I understood.
The jackalope had never been there to prove magic exists.
The jackalope was there to remind me not to stop believing in it.
So listen carefully, little bird.
If you find yourself lost in the dark woods of your own life…
If your heart is broken.
If your plans have crumbled.
If the road ahead has disappeared.
Keep walking.
Keep listening.
Keep saying yes to the doors that open.
And if, somewhere along the way, a jackalope appears…
Tip your hat.
Thank your ancestors.
And follow it.
The creatures that don’t exist often know the shortest path home.
Baba Yaga The Wise 
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