myths of every age
the woods call out to me
in song,
not everyone can hear it;
but i am one of the fortunate ones—
crow song dances all around
me,
as i dance and frolic
in the creek whose gems glitter so
abundantly in the sun;
here there is
magic—
not everyone can see it,
but i can
in every slant of sunbeam
and in the moss on fallen logs;
in the wild flowers and in the ivy—
every tree remembers my name,
and i listen to the wisdom they give
me as the wind dances through my hair;
telling me stories and myths of
every age.
love is everlasting
i once fell in love
with a woman every bit
as wild as me if not wilder,
but now we walk different woods;
her pink sunsets and white roses
call to me in her name—
i wonder if she remembers me
or that purple butterfly
we found once?
but that was ages ago,
now we bathe under different moons;
i dance in creeks that know not
her name,
and speak to flowers who know not
her touch;
and yet she is here in everything—
love is everlasting even
when the friendship fizzles into
ether.
we all need another
should i walk
in this wood,
memories
are numerous as the
leaves littering
the ground;
so many stories i could
tell you of love and friendship—
many have walked these
trees,
with stories of their own;
each of us is more connected
than we know—
when you look at the spine
of leaves they match the lines on
our hands;
we are nature and she is us,
and we all need one another.
the soul knows
a little red fox and i
made eye contact,
as they stood in the field
looking at me i could not help
but look at them;
and yet they looked back
just as curious—
it was a magical moment,
felt they were speaking to
me without words;
sometimes there are things
you need to hear with your heart
and soul
rather than your ears—
some things the soul knows
that it must tell the mind.
transformed anew
a majestic crow
welcomed me into the wood,
and i knew that this
forest was full of magic;
as i walked into the
creek and spoke
to the trees i saw slants of
sunlight glowing with
magic fall upon everything and
shining through my hair touching me
with all of its prayers—
all i can think of is when it is
warm enough i shall go back,
speaking to the trees;
listening to crow song as it
emerges—
i'll let the magic in the wood
touch me,
and let my magic touch it and
together
we'll be transformed anew.
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