The crone, wrinkled and gnarled,
with her long stringy hair,
is stirring in the forest
in her nest of leaves.
Rabbits and wolf cubs perk their ears
and the bear is arrested mid-swoop,
while fishing in the river.
She is sounding the drum,
its reverberating thrum
calling the Council of All Beings
to the river's edge.
Her drumbeat is calling me
out of the grey town.
It beckons me deep
into the forest's heart,
where all is green, and silent
and sacred.
I enter the primeval sepulchre
as the world goes still
and falls away.
The way forward is written
somewhere
within that stillness.
I need but listen closely,
to find my way.
from 2013 for earthweal's open link . I am always at home in the forest.
Wonderful. I love the idea of finding the way forward deep in the forest in communion with all beings.
ReplyDeleteIf only we could all listen carefully to nature in this way, we might still stand a chance!
ReplyDeleteBrilliant poem! We all need to listen closely to find a way out of this mess.
ReplyDeleteSounding the drum to hold council, I am sure there is wisdom found in that gathering. I would gladly attend drum in hand.
ReplyDeleteYour sight and sense of that deep place so vital here. That's the news we need. - Brendan
ReplyDelete"I enter the primeval sepulchre
ReplyDeleteas the world goes still
and falls away"
This says it all!