It’s the type of scene that I would like to draw, but haven’t ever been able to. An explosion of colors and textures. I can draw figures and shapes okay, but I can never nail down the other stuff, the stuff that makes a place alive. The smells, the odd angle of light splashing on the forest ground, the stillness.

The stillness is really hard to draw. But it’s also one of the things I love most about the woods, how quiet they are.

I come to the woods because I’m looking for my brother. When I’m in the woods, I can pretend I’m in another world. I am looking for Parker from before, the person he was when we were younger, the person I want to save. My brother does not deserve to be saved after what he did, but I can’t help wanting to save him anyway. My desire to save him is a panicky itch that I can’t stop scratching.

All the things about time travel that I’ve read online say that if you want to time-travel, you have to find a wormhole. I’m sure Cora would have a more scientific definition, but the way I understand it is that a wormhole is like a door to another part of time. You can use a wormhole to go forward or backward.

I want to go backward. I need to go backward.

The good news is all my Google searching has told me that going backward is easier than going forward. But finding a wormhole is not easy, even if you are going backward. Whenever I read about how hard it is to find a wormhole, I start skipping over words and my brain feels overwhelmed.

Because of my word-skipping brain, I’m going to need Cora’s help when it comes to all the complicated stuff like how to build a time machine, but I was able to understand the part that said wormholes are most likely to be found in ancient places. Places with memory.

I’m pretty sure the woods are an ancient place. And the woods hold so many memories for me. Memories of him.

Everything I’ve read says the best way to find a wormhole is to ask for one to appear. That makes me think of magic. I imagine myself like a witch, looking for the perfect place to cast a spell. I might not be able to build the time machine without Cora’s help, but I’m determined to find the best spot to build one.

And that is something I can do because I know the woods. I know their magic.

Every day on my walk home, I scan the forest, searching for something that stands out to me. Something that says: This is the place. This is where something magical could happen.

And every day, I keep coming back to this one giant oak tree. The tree calls me toward it, echoing with the memory of my brother, reminding me of the person he was before he became the type of person who could do what he did.