What a delight it is to walk alone in the woodland, to hear the chirrup
of birds as they warn of my passing and the shuffle of rodents not far from my
feet but unseen.
Oh to breathe the clean air scented with nature’s balm, first woody and now
musky as the secrets of life being lived remind me I am not alone.
The sky is almost lost above me by the swaying treetops as they catch the
breeze and I spy a moss covered log that invites me to rest and I sit and close
My ears now do the observing as they listen to nature in its fecundity
whisper and chatter around me and now I am so still, I hear the chuckle and bubble
of a stream.
Almost like a song of contentment it sings to me of a love of life, of a
woodland sprite dancing inside a ring of toadstools who skips in and out of the
water’s edge unaware, splashing, laughing and loving her life.
My eyes are now open wide, but holding my breath there she is; she is real. She
must not hear me as she sings or see me notice her pretty toes and her turned up nose,
skipping unharmed through the serrated nettles leaves.
I must breathe, but I don’t want her to leave, so as silently as I can I
take a breath and as I do she falters and senses evil nearby and looks for
cover then spies me there sitting still.
Trapped she stands her ground and stares back at me. I nod hoping she will not
be scared and put my finger to my lips and shake my head as if to say I will not tell of seeing her.
But she too shakes her head slowly and backs off into a group of nettles which
sway with her passing and then she looks up and smiles back at me as she disappears with her tiny
finger on her lips as well.
I am left alone but the birds are still singing, the trees are still
swaying and the stream is still tinkling or is that her as she watches and
laughs at me now in secret?