What the Trees Let Go

We walked in the woods,
old legs, cold noses.

Grey light, mist touching the water,
moving through the trees.

Slowly, quietly, seeking.
Gathering what fell,
making treasure of what the trees let go.

Listen.
Still, for a while.

There are other visitors here.
Forest guardians, ivy covered giants,
gestures that appear,
prehistoric birds, the bow of a galleon.
Just a glimpse.
You won’t see it again.

The edge of a cabin,
a woman inside, weaving the world.

Painted in mud,
We carry back our bounty,
to dress the hearth.

She turns again.