Woodland Mysteries

There you go, back, far back into the woods once more. I wish you knew the names of all these tree. They are distant aunts, and old soldiers, warriors of coincidental conflicts. Blood soaked relations of relative ghosts seen now only as points of departure where tombs have been riven by lightning or whole forests burnt to the ground to a more fertile ash. Names unknown but named in a book rivers and reeds write for later roots to unravel. Fathers as old as the first horse. Mothers who breast fed the slow dreams of a humankind destined to plant her flag upon a million fields of creation. Yet more await, are nursed as new seeds that glimmer in a shinning nebular. Now I watch one lone child pass through gorse, thickets, and briar, travelling through its own forest to be born into a family that has yet to be named or branched. Life lives and returns to find out why again and again. Reincarnated crucifixions dot a new landscape each era, vacations in Ohio last until death stamps a later passport. Sweat and blood in Thailand, transforms into poetry. A blind man digging his way through a city mining for a treasure he was born with. Back we will come arriving from anywhere and anyone. Each deliverance a blessing we had to uncover and acknowledge as our own woodland mystery. A place between sacred mountains and molehills where the trees have yet to be labeled or cutdown, and green growing offspring with their little axes getting duller and heavier each year until the woods and all disappear to follow the night-train to where they will arrive at, whatever platform we have cobbled together or erected with prescient hands. Then we claim our Kingdoms, our many mansions, the many branches of us all. As the cycle turn and spiral again to return carrying a new child as a gift of the light.