Pine Wood

 

Leaving the path

I walk into the woods.

Sit on a fallen branch 

within a circle of

pine trees, twigs, sticks, 

rotting wood, 

pine needles and 

fallen leaves,

layer upon layer,

composted.

A decay that 

nourishes these 

silent giants 

whose spongy 

trunks soar to

reach the light

high above.

There is shelter

from the wind,

but beneath 

the evergreen canopy,

the silence is total,

like death, yet 

it calls me

to listen,

to strive

for the

light.

 

Druantia

 

 

Through  a weave of variegated ivy leaves, 

upon which light and shade played games

with my imagination, the truncated tree presented 

a face of hollow cheeks and hollow eyes that

questioned my beliefs.

 

 

During long winter months, while rain and gales 

rampaged, scattering and flinging in a whirl of 

winter chaos, the trunk held fast to its roots,

small creatures sought refuge in the dense

and healthy growth but what were my truths.

 

Thoughts of Celtic Gods and Goddesses occupied my mind, until spring came shyly

through a cloud of leafy tendrils that framed her face and a crown of green was placed,

for a mythical Goddess Queen, Druantia, protector of trees, grounding my beliefs and responsibility.