Tuesday, June 28, 2011

My Resinous Heart


Being not quite in the forest in my new living space, I'm acutely aware of how much I soak up by returning to the trees. The last two days I've been called into unfamiliar places, but upon entering I remembered my belonging. 
 The air shifts as the sun is filtered by leaves, trunks, and brush. It's cooler, more moist, and the smell is poignant. Perfumed with pine resin and warm summer loam, I breathe deeper in the forest. I feel my gait slow down and my senses sharpen. I being to notice details, like teeth on the leaves, and the shades of green dancing before me. 

 I'm enchanted by the way the sun shines through the needles, as if today is the only day I'll see it shine just so. 


I'm teased by the shapes that could be wood or animal. 


I'm reminded of lineage at the rock walls. 


I love everything about the forest. The smell, the mystery, the trees, bushes and forest floor plants. Everything right down to the dirt, cones, and litter. 


The conifers are two-toned right now, as they don their shiny new tips. These white pine tips are excellent browsing for the wayward herbalist. 


Several of these tips soaked in vinegar provide a delicious source of bioflavanoids. 


I walked a little deeper into the woods, where there seemed to be a deer path just clear enough for me to follow. I could smell water and crushed sweet fern. The Mitchella carpeted this seldom trodden area. 


Even the rocks stir memories. 


Being a smallish human, a large stick is always good to carry. 


The ferns are especially lush back here. Dappling the feet of the trees and inviting in fairy folk.


They cascade down the hillside towards the water. 



Wild blueberries everywhere. 




Shapes only crafted by the trees themselves. 



Tiny new lives are protected. 


New friends introduce themselves.


Lifelong loves rendezvous.  





Far away the outline of the trees is deeply green against the fluffy clouds. 


Sit spots in secret alcoves are my favorite place to accomplish my journaling. 





I heart trees. 

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Into the Mystic...

Misty spring mornings conjure images of Avalon. It hangs low over the newly budding land and drips along the banks of the river. It called me out to the bridge, a new place I've not yet been. 
 The bark on the trees glows in the moisture like freshly wet silk. 

 Striking features are illuminated. 

And dew quenches baby leaves.

A bridge between worlds, I walk into the mist with no expectations. I hear the rippling water and hazy breath of the forest. The smells floating are of watermint and cress.

I open my pores to the humid touch. 

And gaze quietly at the heron.




Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Aspen

 Populus tremuloides: Quaking Aspen.

A shimmer in the lace of the woods. Stark not-quite-white bark reaching tall, slender as paintbrushes. Hues of dull apple green tint the air suggesting ghosts of winter. Fruits hang in servitude. Claw shaped buds once sticky with resin crack open in silent celebration of solar rays. Catkins dust pollen generously like confectioner's sugar.
 Tribal marks in the landscape, streaking vernal pools and river bends. Songbirds take solace in the graceful, knobby arms. Powdery thin skin breathing in the sky, breathing out spring. Sturdy cracked ankles and fallen twigs. A beaver feast, beaver home. Canopy for forest flowers.
 Child of the great Willow family, traits like cousin Gilead. Pain soothing oils mark faint stains on old clothes. Bark tea sipped by Grandma, rocking in her chair in the humid twilight. Bright eyed child running wild, too wild; binds strong fomentation along a fractured wrist. Aspen whispers in April. Quakes in May. Shimmies in summer. Autumn's yellow skirt is too short.
 Trembling in visitations with breezes, shaking off nerves and fears. Warm ground holds steady. Papery hearts tickle with sound. Bitter thoughts warding off facades of humans. Innocent soils shared, enough is plenty.
 Great roots holding hands. Waters cleaned, turtles hide. Rich in history, stories of thaw, freeze, and burn. Morels play in May while ancient cultures multiply in microscopic millions. Fairies weave tapestries of mycelia and set them out to catch raindrops. Leprechauns tell jokes under thunderclouds. Fast in the wind fly cottony seeds, carrying with them a biodegradable future. Small wishes of mayflies copulate.
 Bent beauty, leaning ways, graceful unison. Spring fever cured and summer whims commence. Aspen reaches inside for strength, determining each color to paint the skyline. From all four winds of the continent, she dazzles the land. Hold her tusks as the animal of wisdom and courage. Travelling native, you quiver elegance.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Beltane Invocation






I'm calling you, wild

I'm coaxing you out of your snow-shell 

with my breath and green eyes


and longing for your leafy taste.


Demulcent rivers, swell.


Shocking bright eyelashes on trees, blink.


Dirt from the bear is shaken off, 


exchanged for bird seed and carrion.


Breaking skies, pussy willows, tease.


Kingfisher rattles and steals. 


The field is alive with change. 

I wrap hope around my neck and walk long walks


with friends


who find nettles. 


I eat the pollen laden alder catkins


inviting in every nuance.


The herons are feasting in the low waters


where phragmites glows like giant wheat


hiding eggs.


Stomp loud little bunny, wake her up


Shine hot bright sun, melt her heart


Cry in trills and thrills little peepers


sing her back