Poetry (words)


Mist cloaked mornings cling to my bones, I yawn and stretch I shake it off. The light loiters here, half hidden amongst the woods as if thought up by the imagination. Ghosts of iridescent charms. 

Blankets of lichen cover stump and stone like limpets of dry land living, breathing complexities of union and survival. As a child I would peel them and stick them to books, as an adult I observe their wonder. 

Midwinter when the past is still so obvious in the forest, where toppled giants rest against their kin. How humanity’s impact is ever present from the ancient souls who understood to those who trample through greed and ignorance. 

Spring will return here, sunlight will dance in these branches and the warmest breeze will dry this sodden ground. Humanity may reign supreme in war and commodities, but nature comes in peace. 


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