Nature

Mother cries in the night,

Holding in the pain of countless millennia, ironic that she has been taken hostage by her own creation, sealed behind an intricate web of wayward ideas, lies and dead thoughts. A birthing out of love can only end in sadness, she dances amongst the pale moon lit sky, in the hopes of passing the torch on while forever keeping the fire alight for many a wayward wanderer and weary soul deciding to make the long trek home.

See the flames flicker then spark, then grow cold and dim in their eyes, suddenly extinguished within the pupils and hearts of men.

A world grown cold

I sit and observe the rushing rapids the fierce flow of a day's rainfall the freshwater crayfish clinging to the river's bank, water muddied, swirling, cascading over the rocks reaching out for stable footing is met with fierce undercurrents to be swept downstream. Gone with the flow, simply no more.

Fungi grows about the trees untouched by man's hands, vibrant reds, orange and earthy browns. The Sun shows itself piercing through the canopy and suddenly the whole scene comes alive and the world can now be seen within every drop of dew if you look a little closer.

Reflecting spirit

The mighty oak weathering many a storm. The Ivy clings to its host, hoisting it far into the treeline in a vast effort to receive and reach out to the light.

A Warm embrace.

Today I dine amongst the nymphs, the fairies, sprites, goblins, spirits and elementals and the memories and quiet echos of men and women before us.

The land under foot.

But most of all to remember a mother's embrace, kindness and love, her lessons harsh yet her wisdom fair.

The breath of life rolls slowly over the hills and into the valley below. Myst carpets the path trodden, however I see the flames now lashing, and the sparks sizzle and crack through the cold nights air.

A familiar place.

Welcome home.

An enigma no more.