From the Wood

Nov. 16, 2012

From the Wood

I'm from the wood,
    From wooden castles
          Built upon the hills.
In my younger days
    I ran through pines,
         Ivy and vines
               Clutching with thorns,
          Snatching at my heels.
My size six shoes
     Would come home muddy,
And I would leave them outside
     With the dogs.

My windows were ever green,
     Shaded with blues.

The wood,
     It teaches you to listen,
A listening
     Silence imposes on us.
Came to love lady Echo,
     Jets roaring far overhead,
     Wind pushing needles
          Side to side,
     A quiet shuffling of creatures,
         Too ancient and set in their ways
     To move.

I came to love
     The silent sound of age,
          Waving in the breeze.

 Barefoot on blue rock driveways,
     Laid down half a century ago,
Pressing my toes
     Into a damp stone ribbon,
          Swallowed up by the branches,
               The shadows of fig leaves.

 Now I'm on the traveler's path,
     Leaning against slabs of buildings,
 Listening to the wind whistle
     Off from the lake,
And I still listen out for that timeless,
     That good wooden sound
          Of days inching by.