There is something within these deep woods and hollers; these sacred mountain places
It is ancient, it has always existed will always exist long after we have all returned to the earth
Watching us from within the deep confines of the woods; the thing that calls our names
As darkness falls across the land and casts long shadows as the sun disappears
We were raised not to answer, to ignore it, as it beckons us into the trees
Constantly watching; it’s as though when you stare into forest, the forest stares back  

Appalachia has many secrets; this is but one of them, child, believe me
So many things that can never be explained, only passed down to each
New generation of Appalachian; from the wilds of Maine to the coal fields of Eastern Kentucky, we all know and most of us believe in whatever is out there, though we can
Not put it to a name because no name for it exists; it is ours and does not need a moniker

If you hear it calling you in early evening, as the purple and pinks of twilight takeover
The blue sky, look away because you did not hear a thing, child, not a word
You can look, watch for it against a backdrop of leaves and bramble and oaks but
Do not follow it in, because these woods run deep and finding your way out again
Is a near impossible task; more folks have been lost to it than you could ever imagine
Give it space and respect, revere it, but from a distance like a pretty piece of China
Set upon a shelf in your mamaw’s house; some things are not for us, you see
Some things are best left well enough alone