Tree Gods
They wait, these trees.
Slender children of older gods,
Mighty as towers but long gone,
Fallen to ruin and leaf mould.
They wait, these trees.
Winters pass like melting snow;
The glades grow dense, with brambles
Hiding their burrowing feet.
Moss-furred stumps,
The bones of their ancestors
Remind them of past glories.
They wait, these trees.
Summers pass like blooming flowers.
The dells ring with song
And deer run in hidden paths
Of dappled sun and shade.
They wait, these trees.
The tiny child grows up,
Grows old and passes on,
Houses rise and houses fall
Towns boom, towns bust,
Kings and queens come and go.
The trees alone remain.
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Can’t wait to tell you how much I love these trees. Want rest and sleep away like Rip Van Winkle . . .
michael j
It’s a lovely forest Michael J. No people but standing people(Trees)
xx
I like the poem, Viv. Well said! But I can see the property developers on the horizon, like the Wild Hunt!
Actually, these are safe as houses because the coastal erosion at Dunwich is such that no one will build anything there again, even this far inland.
Glad you like poem and pics!
xx
Sorry, forgot to put a “plus” for the photos, they capture an English “recovering” woodland very well, they put me right there, I can smell the dampness. x
I love trees. I’ve always felt them more alive than any other type of vegetation. They have a special aura, some powerful energy about them and a story to tell. Especially large old trees.
I love trees, too Shiona. I found a massive and lovely oak at the weekend.
You’re right about the aura; a woodland often has a “king” tree(or queen, who knows?) which is somehow central to the being of that woodland. If you half shut your eyes while walking in a wood, that special tree will call.
I also like to listen to their trunks in spring, an ear pressed to the bark, and hear the sap rise like a roaring heartbeat.
xxx