The Woods Grows Wild Here
These old woods
are a thick wildness
the many mysteries
of all its dangerous parts
pulling together
where the strong beams
of nature’s fine architecture
are easily revealed
life is tied together at the roots,
beating as one heart,
the quick pulse of an old forest
What mysteries unfold
in the rich depths of the dark woods
where the stones fall down
the hillside like a staircase
inviting the all too curious hiker
upward and deeper in
birds, bugs, and life
in its chaotic kinetic fire-rich pulse
sings its living song
stand still, hold your breath, listen,
you can hear the movement of the still places
in between the shadows and undergrowth
holding all those trees up
tying them down with roots
When the creek bed is dry,
each stone a stair step
up, up, up,
into the wildness
where the tumble of creek rocks
roll down the hillside
shadows and the cool part of the day
tucked in between the trees
sunlight is a prism,
the leaves cutting it into manageable slices
Thick, rich, undergrowth
to hold up the heights
of all those tall tress
the strong roots to bind them
this is the architecture of nature
sunlight reaches through the leaves
the woods grows wild here
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I love this evocation of old woods, especially the lines “the movement of the still places” and “undergrowth/ to hold up the heights/ of all those tall trees.” Makes me want too go hiking.