by Sara San Angelo

Created on: April 08, 2008

Deep in the heart of the Francis Marion National Forest in coastal South Carolina lies a magical place. Down a narrow, almost impassible dirt road, the pine trees open up to reveal a circular cold spring, only about twenty feet in diameter. Century-old cypresses encircle the spring, their roots delving deep into the hole, sucking up the fresh water. Their meaty trunks are swollen and bulging from the perpetual flow.

The spring is crystal blue and a frigid 50 degrees year round. The surface of the water, perfectly still, is like a piece of thick glass. The light plays tricks with the surface. In the sun, it is a mirror, reflecting so perfectly it is a snapshot of everything above. When a cloud passes over, the mirror dissolves to reveal an undulating chasm full of otherworldly aquatic life, all venturing from the netherworld to take a peak through the looking glass. It is a hole in the earth, a direct channel of energy connecting the outer world to the unseen depths of the subterranean core.

When I am here I am at peace. I bath myself in the frigid waters, washing away all the bustling tremors of the city. My fears and worries dissolve until I am one with the land and sky. I soak up the sounds of the birds and the wind through the trees. I lay on the ground and synchronize my vibrations with the earth's.

I come out to the spring as often as I can, to soak up its energy and bath in its healing, frigid waters. The animals of the forest do the same, as evident by the tracks around the spring. Deer, fox, wild turkey, rabbit and raccoon all venture to it for a drink of pure mineral water, unpolluted by the hands of man. Native Americans lived and hunted here, undoubtedly visiting the watering hole. This is also where the "Swamp Fox" roamed, overcoming the enemy with his animalistic knowledge of the land.

The magnetism of the place is palpable. To spend the night is to lose yourself to the primordial vibrations of nature. I do not feel alone here. I wonder how many spirits are around me, attracted to the power of the place as I am.

Unfortunately, the future of this natural gift is uncertain. Progress is squeezing the boundaries of the forest and now, just ten miles away, a 7,500 acre subdivision is planned. Trees will be felled, roads built, the forest fenced and posted. The tentacles of urban sprawl have reached the boundaries of nature and are fighting to get in.

Will I be able to come to this place in ten years? Will I be able to show my children its majesty? Or will

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