Forest Voices

The trees are speaking to me again,

their willow branches windswept in the night.

Their mystic beauty, everlasting,

turning crimson,

golden, green-leafed faces,

shallow laughter.

Singing, sighing, screaming;

broken in storm-swept meadows,

lightning flashes.

I soak the rain into my bones

and hear the song of the endless life-force.

Flowing rootwise, breathing, growing.

I feel their shadow on ever-pine laden pathways

into the shelter of twisted faery places.

They welcome me to their shrouded haven

in the sun-dappled morning soaked with dew.

Look to the sun-rayed goddess

who turns green-clad mountains from lifeless greyness

to groves of laughter filled with beauty.

Fabled places, long forgotten, still feel the pull of the forest;

still hold the secrets of tomorrow,

in yesterday’s songs of colored autumn.

Don’t forget the quiet places,

hidden by the trees who are always singing.

Talking to me, once again,

I hear them breathing,

ground-beat throbbing in my bones.

This is a poem I wrote many years ago, long before I discovered the path of Druidry. I've always felt the call of the forest. Living in Michigan all my life has been an inspiration. We are the State of Trees and I've always felt most at home among my leafy woodland friends. 

-Skybranch  /|\