~ Autumn. Leaves turned to shades of sunset and sunrise – burnished canopy over wildwood road. These ancient trees feared fire and the axe of the woodsman. They would willingly give some branches, nor longer of much use, but the woodsmen hacked and sawed – tree’s life blood of sap running down and coating their clothes.
But a traveller, such as a fairy is welcome under the golden canopy for you bring no flint to burn; no axe to cut. You respect nature; understanding how important the wildwoods are. They are balance; they are nurture. When they are gone, so is all life. ~
For me, right now, words are like butterflies, dragonflies and warblers. Just out of reach, dancing in the sunlight – translucent wings and sweet songs. Sometimes I can grab a handful – like I did to write a response to this prompt. But they are fleeting. I feel the racing heartbeat of the tiny warbler; see the determination of the monarch to migrate. And I let go. Then they are gone, perhaps into the wildwoods.
Photo by Trevor Cole