Earth Pathways Showcase

There is magic under the trees.
The Earth holds her breath
Waiting for gentle footfall,
Before revealing treasures unbound.

Pause, hasty traveller, and notice.

The deep, dark earth
Alive, strong-scented,
Time pressed in every fold.
Under the trees
She sings,
Of ages past and seconds ago
And buds not yet born.
A voice calling for us to sit,
Spine to trunk, To hear her tales.
To wrap our hands in grasses
And let our toes grow roots,
Watch leaves spring from our shoulders...
There is magic under the trees.

Magic Underfoot © Ciara - Shadowsfall Scribblings 2019

The lone figure on the hilltop. Seldom seen. Rarely known.
Mist-cloaked, edges blurred. Flashing eyes, alight with clarity.
What am I when I’m the Hermit?
Who am I when I slip into darkness, rustle in the moonlit grasses?
Where am I when my bones mesh to the rock of the mountain?
I welcome the delicious invisibility, anonymity.
Amid the quiet trees I devote myself. I am alone, aware, connected.
Uninterrupted, I craft on their behalf.
I digest the cud of wisdom. Long masticated; ideas transform from youthful shoots to exhausted sinews. Green knowledge floods my tongue. I mould this nutritious manna, shaping and expanding, until the time comes. The seekers’ call that beckons me forth.
Then, like flame from ember, my other self will rise. She will unfurl into the light, go back to her people, bearing sustenance to sate their soul hunger.
But for now, with weaving hands and whispered words, alone in the fertile dark I dwell.

Hermit © Ciara – Shadowsfall Scribblings 2019