The Corn Maze | Folklore-Inspired Bedtime Tale

Follow the thread of memory through a nostalgic corn maze in tonight's folklore-inspired bedtime story.

Sleep and Sorcery is a folklore and fantasy-inspired sleep series.

My name is Laurel,

And I'll be your guide on tonight's fantastical journey.

Sleep and Sorcery is one part bedtime story,

One part guided meditation,

And one part dreamy adventure.

Follow along with my voice for as long as it serves you,

And when you're ready,

Feel free to let go of the story and relax into sleep.

If you're still awake as the story concludes,

I'll guide you through a relaxing body scan.

In tonight's story,

As the first chilly winds of autumn blow in,

You and your friends revisit your favorite fall tradition,

A local farm with a seasonal pumpkin patch,

Hay rides,

And a corn maze.

You decide to challenge your friends to see who can make it through the maze the fastest.

As evening falls and you wander the corridors of the corn maze,

You muse on the folklore of the season,

Labyrinths,

And the unexpected twists of life.

Here and there throughout the maze,

You run into people from your past,

Though you struggle to place them until you realize that they are younger versions of you.

The door,

So difficult,

Which none of those before could find again,

By Ariadne's aid was found.

The thread that traced the way rewound.

Ovid,

Metamorphoses How delightful are the shivers of that first crisp autumn morning,

When you step outside to greet,

Instead of warmth and humidity,

A fine and chilly breeze.

The whisper of brittle leaves swept up and displaced down the quiet streets,

Sunshine tinged somehow with a kiss of silver,

The mingled musky scent of smoke and pepper,

Decaying leaves,

Changing soil.

You can hardly hold back from throwing open the windows,

Airing out the stagnant rooms of your home.

Summer suddenly seems a far off country,

Despite how long it lingered this year.

All at once,

Even if it felt like it might never come,

Autumn is here.

And how fortuitous that the sweep of cool air,

The natural cues to the changing season should arrive on a day like this.

This afternoon,

You and your lifelong friends are indulging in a beloved autumnal tradition,

And it would have been an exercise in cognitive dissonance to do so in short sleeves.

With relish,

You pull your sweaters and flannels out of the back of your closet,

Choosing an old favorite for today.

For as long as you can remember,

You and your friends have been visiting Hazelwood Farms together in early October.

Every year,

The farm holds a fall festival,

Complete with pumpkin and apple picking,

Hay rides,

Farmer's markets,

Pop-up haunted houses,

And the pièce de résistance,

A humongous,

Intricate corn maze.

When you were children,

You came with family.

You remember the anticipation of piling into the station wagon,

Cruising down the old dirt road to the farm,

The rush of staying up past your bedtime,

And giggling with friends on a hay ride.

Growing up,

You,

Melody,

And Jack have done everything in your power to keep the tradition going.

No matter how busy your schedules get,

No matter how far apart you scatter,

No matter how much you've changed,

You make this gathering a priority.

Jack even has a family of his own now,

Who tag along to the festivities.

The more,

The merrier,

Indeed.

The nostalgia feeds you,

And in turn,

You make new memories for the next generation.

You become children again,

All of you,

Under the harvest moon.

When a career opportunity surfaced last spring,

You moved a few hours away to be closer to work.

Your friends tried to let you off the hook this year,

But nothing could keep you from making the trip to Hazelwood Farms.

And the freshness of the fall air this morning has only invigorated you.

You're excited about the journey.

The whole region seems to have gotten the message about the changing of the seasonal guard.

All along the open highway,

The landscape is flushed with color.

The trees sing with vibrant gold,

Crimson,

And auburn hues.

A flood of memories come back with every turn of the road,

Each one sweetly bound to your senses.

It's as if you can truly hear the music of the two-piece band that always played in the pavilion at Hazelwood Farms,

As if you can smell the sweet and salty aroma of roasting kettle corn.

When early afternoon comes,

And you finally make the turn onto that familiar old dirt road,

You are almost trembling with excitement.

You've arranged to meet up with Melody and Jack's family at the large,

Hand-painted sign that marks the entrance to the farm grounds.

Since you appear to be the first to arrive,

You stop to admire the sign itself,

Something you've all too often taken for granted.

It must have been repainted recently,

As the colors are even more vibrant than you remember.

Welcome to Hazelwood Farms,

It reads in bold,

Friendly letters in the foreground.

Established 1914.

A family destination for all seasons.

The background is an elaborate,

Rustic illustration of the farm and its activities across an entire year,

Spanning the seasons from left to right,

Like a storybook.

The winter section on the far left depicts the reservoir frozen over with tiny,

Bundled ice skaters skimming the surface.

In spring,

The fields burst with tulips.

Summer shows visitors picking ripe berries and bell peppers.

And finally,

Autumn,

The pumpkin patch a sea of orange and green,

And a hayride carrying passengers over a hill.

You lose yourself in the images,

Picturing yourself skating through them from season to season of life.

You are knocked from this immersion by a pair of arms,

Which suddenly fling themselves around your middle.

The impact is accompanied by a squeal as Melody embraces you.

You made it,

She exclaims.

You break apart and take each other in,

Laughing.

It's only been six months since you saw each other,

But that may well be the longest period you've spent apart since you were in grade school.

Jack and Charlie are right behind me,

Melody says.

I parked right next to them,

But I saw you over here,

And I couldn't wait.

You know how long it takes them to get the kids out of the car.

I want to hear everything about the new job,

But first I have to tell you about what happened last week.

Melody is talking a mile a minute,

Squeezing months worth of catching up into the space of several seconds.

But you soften into a breezy smile,

Simply savoring the warmth of her presence,

The chill in the air,

And the rising scent of spiced cider that wafts down the path to the farm grounds.

You have the feeling of coming home after a long time away.

Soon,

You spot Jack and his partner Charlie coming down the path from the parking lot.

Charlie pushes three-year-old Maggie in a stroller,

While the new baby,

June,

Is nestled in a sling against Jack's chest.

You greet them with hugs and warm greetings,

Marveling at how small and sleepy June looks.

Yet she's so much bigger than the last pictures you saw of her.

Together,

You go forth past the hand-painted sign and into the festival grounds of Hazelwood Farms.

Music fills the air,

The acoustic guitar and drum kit of the same two-piece band that's been playing the Fall Festival since you were kids.

You make a beeline for the kettle corn,

Freshly popped and just as delicious as you remember There's so much to do at Hazelwood,

But it's always better enjoyed with good food and drinks in your belly.

You and your friends catch up at a picnic table over snacks and fresh-squeezed lemonade.

I love this kind of weather,

Says Jack,

Wistfully.

All this stuff.

It feels spooky,

But cozy.

Does that make sense?

It's the thinning of the veil,

Says Melody,

Matter-of-factly.

This time of year,

The threshold that separates this world and the other world starts to sort of… She rubs her thumb and forefinger together,

Trying to summon up the proper word for such a mystical expression.

Well,

You have to watch out,

Anyway,

Because the two worlds are so close together that you could slip through.

Or something could slip through from the other side.

Like ghosts,

Chimes in Little Maggie.

Like ghosts,

Or spirits,

Melody says.

But it's nothing to be afraid of.

That's why we celebrate All Hallows' Eve,

Halloween,

Or the Day of the Dead.

Because it feels like our loved ones,

The ones who aren't here anymore,

That is,

Are closer to us this time of year.

You've always loved the folklore and mythology of the seasons,

Most of which you know from Melody,

Who's always reading or waxing poetic about such things.

But this motif of a wispy,

Diaphanous veil,

Barely holding two worlds apart,

One world of the here and now,

Solid,

Rational,

Grounded,

And the other world,

More ethereal and romantic,

Home to spirits and specters and shades,

It feels so entirely natural,

Even if you can't explain it.

It's as if that other world is hovering,

Flickering in and out of sight,

Just at the edge of your periphery,

Or spinning endlessly in the tunnels of whipped-up leaves that rise with the wind.

Is the other world the home of the soul,

The departed loved ones who watch over us,

Or the domain of the fairies,

Goblins and ghosts that slip through on All Hallows' Eve,

Or something else entirely?

You make your way to the pumpkin patch,

Where Maggie flits frantically along the vine,

Unable to choose just one to bring home to carve.

When she finally picks one,

A pumpkin almost the same size as she is,

Her parents strap it into the stroller in her place,

Which makes Maggie double over giggling.

You can't help laughing either,

As you watch Charlie confidently stride through the farm,

Carting a pumpkin in a stroller.

Even though it's been a few months since you all saw each other,

And even before that,

Life was starting to get so busy,

So complicated with jobs and families,

This silly moment,

This whole afternoon feels so effortless.

You and your friends simply slide back into each other's lives,

Welcoming new members to this found family.

Gratitude,

Like a balm,

Washes over you.

There are caramel apples to be enjoyed at a stand near the orchard,

And fields of zinnias and sunflowers to pick and take home,

Or simply admire.

When the sun starts to droop over the fields,

And the flowers blaze a bright gold,

And the surrounding trees are ringed with halos and haze,

The atmosphere shifts subtly as the day darkens and shadows begin to crawl across the farmland.

You remember Jack's words,

Spooky but cozy.

With the day waning,

There's one activity left on your list,

And in your opinion,

It's the best one.

The corn maze.

Hazelwood Farms is famous for this massive 25-acre marvel.

Each year,

The vast cornfield is transformed into a twisting labyrinth of seemingly endless corridors,

Usually with some festive autumnal design.

This year,

According to the maps you procure from the ticket booth,

The maze is cut into the design of an intricate spider web.

There are multiple paths through the maze,

With varying levels of difficulty,

And travelers can consult the back of the map for hints.

But you are proud.

You've defeated the corn maze every year without once checking the cheat sheet,

And you intend to uphold the tradition.

As a group,

You,

Melody,

Jack,

Charlie,

And the kids step under the archway and into the maze.

The stalks of corn that line the path extend well above your head,

Creating a sense of insulation from the rest of the world.

The noise of the outside,

All the families and visitors enjoying the attractions of the fall festival blend into a quiet hum now.

It's as if you've entered a different world,

Passed through a veil,

So to speak.

It's several paces before you encounter the first fork in the path.

Which way will you go?

I think we're going to take the family-friendly route,

Jack says,

Gesturing to the map.

There's always a simpler path through the maze that's ideal for families with kids,

As it only covers a small portion.

But we'll meet you at the cider tent when you make it out?

Not if we beat you to the exit,

You laugh.

The little family takes the right fork,

And you and Melody take the left.

But your competitive remark has ignited a spark in Melody,

And at every subsequent branch in the path,

You find yourselves in heated debate about which way to go.

She wants to consult the map,

But you are steadfast.

You smirk and wager that you can make it through the corn maze faster than her on instinct alone,

Even if she consults the hint at every turn.

You're on,

She smiles back,

Then turns on her heels.

I'm going this way.

See you at the cider tent,

You call after Melody as she disappears around the stalks of corn.

You inhale,

Taking in the musk of autumn evening,

Of loam and leaves.

You listen to your gut to determine the path forward.

It usually steers you right.

You know for a fact that there are dozens of other people walking the corn maze at the same time as you.

From time to time,

You hear laughter and conversation behind the walls that separate you.

But still,

You have a sense of blissful solitude here in the maze.

It's quiet,

And the last light grows faint.

You don't yet need to pull out the flashlight they gave you at the ticket booth,

But it won't be long.

A brisk wind tussles the tops of the corn stalks,

Rippling over the maze.

All the impressions of this place.

The high walls of corn.

The sound of the breeze.

The feel of the ground beneath your feet.

The smell of kettle corn and spices wafting over the place.

Call up misty memories of every visit,

Echoing through the intervening ears.

Your senses are all heightened.

Finely tuned to the details of this place,

And all the reverence you have for it.

But it's perhaps a sixth sense.

Something more difficult to define,

That guides your journey through the maze.

Whenever you encounter a branching of the path into two or three divergent directions,

You feel a little tug deep within your body,

One way or another.

You think of the Greek myth of the Labyrinth of Crete,

Built to house the half-man,

Half-bull known as the Minotaur.

When Theseus sought to slay the creature,

He wooed the princess Ariadne,

And elicited her help navigating the labyrinth.

She spun for Theseus a ball of thread.

This he unspooled as he traversed the corridors,

Marking his passage,

That he might retrace his way out of the labyrinth,

As no other had done before.

The sensation you have of being tugged,

Drawn by greater forces,

It's as if you are unspooling,

Like Ariadne's thread,

Moving forward,

Guided by intuition,

As if you walk a path already destined.

It's easy to let your thoughts wander in the maze,

Through myths and poetic flights of fancy.

The tale of Theseus and Ariadne ended,

Like many myths,

In events both tragic and sublime.

Having slain the Minotaur and won the heart of the princess,

Theseus abandoned Ariadne.

Heartbroken as she was,

This wasn't the end of her story.

She was found by Dionysus,

The god of the vine,

Of fertility and festivity,

Of theatre and winemaking,

Of orchards and ecstasy.

They married,

And on Ariadne's head,

Dionysus placed a starry crown,

Declaring her a goddess.

Then he gave her a place among the stars,

Her bridal diadem,

Becoming the constellation Corona Borealis,

The northern crown.

He looked to the skies,

Which are seeding purple sunset,

To dim dusk.

Stars begin to wink into clarity.

You wonder if Ariadne's crown will be visible tonight,

Once darkness has truly fallen.

You click on the flashlight.

The mistress of the labyrinth and her thread tug once more at your breastbone,

Urging you onward,

Left,

Right,

Moving back to move forward.

The throw of your flashlight bobs up and down in time with your footsteps.

At times,

Threads of light bleed through the cornstalks from maze travelers on the other side of your pathway,

And now and then you meet others at forks in the road,

Genially greeting each other before continuing on your way.

There are people of all ages in the maze.

Sometimes you'll almost run into another person or be so startled by someone coming around the corner that you'll drop your flashlight.

In the confusion of stooping to pick it up,

You'll get a good look at the stranger's face and be so sure that you know the other person,

But never sure enough to put a name to the face.

You imagine there are plenty of people who visit Hazelwood year after year.

These passing travelers must be familiar to you for no other reason than that you've encountered them before in the maze,

In the orchard,

In the pumpkin patch.

As the sky darkens,

You emerge into a wide space where the corn has been summarily cleared.

You've reached the center.

There are a dozen or so people here,

Consulting maps or getting their bearings in small groups,

And there's the lookout tower,

Around which the entire maze is constructed.

You climb the iron steps to reach the platform,

Which looks out over the cornfield.

There,

Nose buried in the map,

Is Melody,

Which way did you come from,

You ask over her shoulder.

She jumps,

Then laughs when she realizes it's you.

She screws up her face and looks down at the several exits that spill into the center.

That way,

I think,

She says with little certainty,

That I might be looking at this map upside down.

Now,

Side by side,

You regard the maze from overhead.

It's really a marvelous design they've pulled off this year,

And from this vantage point,

You can see how truly impressive the size of the maze is.

You can hardly believe you're only halfway through,

But from here,

You can also see the wide open sky,

Now crowded with stars.

It's simply dazzling.

I'm sure Jack and everyone are already draining their cider cups,

You say.

True,

Melody agrees.

We'd better get a move on,

If we don't want them to leave without us,

Bedtimes and such.

There's no such thing as bedtime when it's hazelwood farm season,

You say.

Melody laughs.

Still,

You head back down to ground level,

And once again,

Part ways.

You refuse to take the same path forward as Melody,

Reluctant to be influenced by her use of the map.

And once again,

Armed with only a flashlight,

You are alone in the maze.

Your mind wanders.

It strikes you as symbolic,

The way this evening has unfolded,

The way Jack and Charlie and their little ones took the first right,

Diverging from yours and Melody's path.

They were the first among you to start a family.

Life took them down a different road.

And you and Melody,

Best friends for as long as you can remember,

You've always had different approaches to life.

She's always had a roadmap.

She knows what she wants to accomplish,

And when she wants to accomplish it.

She sets concrete goals,

Makes a plan,

Tracks her milestones every step of the way.

You,

On the other hand,

Well,

You're different.

You've meandered a bit.

It's taken you a little longer to figure out where you were headed in life.

Even now,

You're still figuring it out.

You used to feel like it made you undisciplined or impulsive,

But you've reached a place of peace with your nature.

It's admirable to know what you want,

To be strategic and clear about your goals,

But there's also something commendable about following your bliss,

Being open to new experiences and opportunities,

Even if they fall outside the conventional path.

Sometimes,

You feel like you have been so many different people in your life,

Tried on so many personalities,

Careers,

Dreams,

Like clothing or costumes.

Looking back,

It's hard to even see the thread that connects all those past views.

Cricket song swells over the walls of corn.

The darker it grows,

The more stars that blaze overhead.

The more keenly you feel the idea of a thinning of the veil.

As quiet as it is in your corner of the maze,

You can feel a tingling at the back of your neck,

A sense of presence.

It's as if you can feel the position of every other person wandering the corn pathways.

All those flashlights bobbing up and down in the dark.

All those faces achingly familiar.

Familiar faces.

Your breath catches,

And you stop in your tracks.

You think of the last face you saw in the maze before you reached the center,

And the face before that.

Adults.

Children.

Why were they so familiar?

Just now,

You see the spill of a flashlight around a curve in the corn.

Slowly,

You move toward it.

Ariadne's thread twitches and tugs.

You turn the corner.

There,

In the glow of your flashlight,

Is a teenager,

Brow furrowed as they contemplate the forking paths before them.

You take them in,

Noting their height,

Clothing,

The lines in their face.

You exhale.

Did you get lost,

You ask.

The teenager looks up.

They hadn't noticed you before.

No,

They say with a feigned confidence.

No,

I'm just following my gut.

Oh,

You say.

Not one for maps,

Then.

Maps are the easy way out.

They respond with a smirk.

You know that expression so well.

Seeing it from the other side fills you with mingled pride and discomfiture.

I agree,

You say.

You think about telling them how close they are to the center,

To the lookout tower.

But you hold your tongue and simply say,

Good luck,

Before you move on.

But the teen calls after you,

Imploring you to wait.

You turn around to face them.

You lock eyes.

You can see them studying you,

Eyes full of curiosity and intensity.

Then finally they speak.

Sorry,

They say,

Flushing.

I just,

I thought you were someone I knew.

And with that,

They choose a path and disappear behind a row of corn.

What if,

You wonder,

That other world Melody spoke of is really a world of memory?

What if the ghosts and spirits that can pass so effortlessly through the veil between worlds are really echoes of the past,

Ripples of the future?

Past and future selves,

Glimpsing each other as they slide along the delicate web of time.

What if every familiar face you've seen tonight in the maze is a version of you,

Poised at a juncture,

Making a choice that reverberates through time?

Your mind turns again to Theseus,

The prince who slew the minotaur and conquered the labyrinth.

He is also the subject of a famous thought experiment,

Which asks a curious question.

Suppose that Theseus and the youth of Athens returned from Crete in their ship with 30 oars,

And that ship was preserved in honor of their heroism.

But over time,

The boards of that ship began to decay.

So,

The Athenians tore away the rotting boards and replaced them with new ones,

And did so again and again,

Removing the rot and replacing the timber,

Till none of the old planks remained of the original ship.

So,

The question is,

Is it still the ship of Theseus?

They say the human body,

Or the cells that make it up,

Renew and regenerate every few years on varying timelines,

Of course.

But it means that two snapshots of your physical self,

Taken several years apart,

Might show an almost entirely different cellular composition.

Our cells die,

Decaying like the leaves in autumn,

Or the planks of Theseus' ship,

And they renew like the earth in spring.

So,

How then,

Are you still you?

All these years later,

All those shed skins lying behind,

Those past selves who seem like separate beings,

Made of entirely different cells,

When those past selves are more like ghosts,

What is it that makes you you?

Your body?

Your memories?

What is the connective thread?

Somehow,

Suddenly,

But also just at the right moment,

You see the exit straight ahead.

You charge forward,

Emerging from the maze.

The cider tent is just a few paces away,

With warm market lights glowing like little stars in the dark.

When you reach it,

You find that all your friends are already there,

Waiting for you.

It seems instinct alone didn't win the race for you this time.

But there are many paths through the labyrinth.

None is inherently right,

Or wrong,

Or better,

Or worse.

But if you're lucky,

There will be friendly faces along the way,

And friendly faces at the journey's end.

You join your friends at their picnic table under the tent.

Steam spirals up from mugs of hot,

Spiced cider.

Melody has her laughs about beating you out,

And you take them in stride.

The twists and turns of the maze seem like another world a lifetime away.

You wonder if any of your friends had similar experiences to yours,

If they felt the thinness of that veil under the rising moon.

What makes you you,

You wonder again,

As the laughter and wistful conversation of your friends,

Your chosen family,

Wash over you.

Here in the place where you forged a thousand memories,

Where you'll make countless more for yourselves and any other loved ones who join your orbit for the next generation.

The connective thread becomes clear.

It's your relationships.

It's the love and shared experience that binds you together across time,

Through the endless turns of the maze,

Through decay and rebirth.

Love and friendship renew you again and again,

Affirming your choices,

Affirming your own unique path.

Just over the horizon,

Obscured by the lacy silhouettes of trees about to drop their leaves,

The Corona Borealis,

Ariadne's crown,

Shines.

Noticing the journey of the breath throughout the body,

Moving in through your nose,

Down the throat,

Filling up the lungs and the belly,

And following that same path outward in reverse,

Like the journey to the center of the maze,

Spiraling into a space of quiet nourishment,

Then spiraling out again,

Back into the world.

Let your breath settle into a natural rhythm,

Embracing the calm it brings.

Settle into a comfortable position and bring your awareness to the crown of your head.

Notice any sensation here in the top of your head,

In your scalp.

Allow those muscles to completely relax and release.

Move your awareness down little by little,

Relaxing the muscles of the forehead,

The temples,

The right ear,

The left ear,

Softening the space between your eyebrows,

Relaxing the jaw and the mouth,

Maybe parting the teeth or the lips just slightly,

Lowering the tongue from the roof of your mouth.

Relax the muscles of the neck,

The throat,

Letting your awareness move to the right shoulder,

And the space where it meets your neck,

Softening into that space in the shoulder blade,

The upper right arm,

The elbow,

The forearm,

Relaxing the muscles of the right wrist,

The right hand,

Noticing any sensation in your fingers,

Noticing the spaces between the fingers,

The space around the right hand.

Now become aware of the left shoulder,

Relaxing in the shoulder blade,

The upper left arm,

The left elbow,

The forearm,

Relaxing the muscles of the left wrist,

The left hand,

Noticing any sensation in your fingers,

Or the spaces between the fingers,

The space around the left hand.

Relax the muscles of your chest,

The belly,

The lower back,

The pelvis,

The right hip,

Right thigh and hamstring,

Noticing any sensation or tension in the right knee,

Back of the knee,

Softening in the lower leg,

And right ankle,

Right foot,

Notice any sensation in the right toes,

The spaces between the toes,

Notice the whole right side of the body,

And now bring awareness to the left hip,

Left thigh and hamstring,

Noticing any tension in the left knee,

Back of the knee,

Softening in the lower leg,

Left ankle,

Left foot,

Notice any sensation in the left toes,

The spaces between the toes,

Notice the whole left side of the body,

The whole body,

The whole body,

Gently observe the journey of the breath,

The spiral,

The maze,

And let the whole body soften,

Let your mind empty,

Give yourself permission to surrender to sleep,

Wishing you all the blessings for release and renewal in this season and all the seasons to come.

Sweet dreams