Into the Forest

Into the forest ... 

           

    …Where the silent things lie

            And sing little songs.

            Songs of falling leaves and gentle wind

            Blowing softly along fields of wild flowers.

           

            Where beings reside, those made of the wood

            And the wood made from them.

            Inherent spirits, residual ghosts

            Thrumming underneath canopies of Oaks and Camphor

            Umbrella palms spread out

            Like the extended arms of a loving mother.

            They are the children of the wood.

            Existential guardians of shimmering pools and trickling streams.

            Angels gliding around gnarled roots and ant-hill kingdoms.

            Alight, blazed with the fury of brazened sunset skies.

 

            Where creatures crawl and scatter.

            Underneath a floor of moss and soil

            And hollow logs ‘cross placid rivers

            Alive with the watchful eyes of a Cretaceous descendant.

            Along dirt paths that descend

            Into tufts of impassable thorn

            And gulfs of deceptive swamp.

            Where the Egret stands in its one-legged pose.

            Motionlessly watching the Moccasin swim

            Darkly elegant.

 

            Into the forest where the deep

            Is only shallow, in endless vales

            Of thickets and dark green bush.

            Magnolia perfume and jasmine blossom.

                                    E.