The woods reflect the world
In their untimely melody
In their ethereal dwelling
In the stray rays of light
Which bounce softly down the
leaves
In the swirling liquidness of
a breeze
Faintly perceived in a deep
grove
In the fiery destruction of
the wild
Behind a pretence of a
peaceful, collective breath
In the airiness of sounds
Always fluttering, always out
of reach
(Yet bound to the ear as the
sea is to the sand)
As it blends in earthly,
bittersweet vapours
And reaches the thirsting
lungs.
The woods reflect the earth
In its still awakening
Its patient surveillance of
Man’s impending arrival
Its surrendered beauty
Its closed availability
Like heaven’s doors awaiting
Welcoming, inviting
Yet unreachable in this flawed
existence
(At least in its glorious
fullness)
The woods are like the earth
At times elevated to godly
revelation
At times submitted to qualms
of men and beasts
In their unearthly life
In their charred remains
The woods reflect the world.
-Estelle Wallis, June 2017
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