A drum roll of thunder sounds
as we enter the forest.
The magic comes upon us
as it did for our ancestors long ago,
who wove those fantastical tales.
We listen for the whispers …
for, they say, they talk to each other –
so the men of science have found,
sharing the secrets of their world.
Bound by their roots in their eternal home,
they abide, as forgotten millennia drift by,
while the mobile world we inhabit
crashes and burns around them.
Now, ice-sharp droplets sting,
the harbingers of heavenly chaos.
A tremendous thunderclap –
we cower, delighted, awed – but see!
The trees are prancing in a frenzied dance,
a wild primeval measure,
their arms flung into the sky,
their leafy tresses heaving,
their performance flashes upon the eye …
The sky breaks, gifting life-sustaining cascades.
We hear it, we think, the thanksgiving,
in the dripping, the chattering rivulets.
We sense, we think, the joy of the trees.
‘In the forest’
