Musing…



Tracing grooves in ancient oak bark

With tingling fingers, soothed; 

Sheltered in the wings of strong silent boughs.

Wooed by whispering tales from distant shores.

Amber acorns break onto fresh  fallen crushed leaves

Seeding under misted mosses and musty funghi

Where stories weave. 

Tree festival


Through wild woods,

Parting shimmering drapes,

Greeted by a fanning of tiny hands

Seated next to dryads wrapped in cosy ruby capes.

Swirling dervlas swish folksy skirts,

Weaving dreamily through silver birches.



Crystals wink as the fairy choir sings in the wings,

Waiting for woodland girl to emerge, her gown tinged with whispers

of pearly tears.


Trailing across silvery skies, a carriage pulled by white doves glides…

The audience sighs!

Queen of the forest has arrived!