She’d
Play hide and seek
                          By day
Within borders of contentment
              Or knit words without sound

She stayed but one weekend
                                At solstice
                        In a tree house
I never saw her wings
But she’d flown
Leaving only a slice of gingerbread cake
                        Settled under a rowan tree

The oak has
Words of thunder
Divine connections
                      He shall be your double bass

The willow oh the the willow
Her immortality
And vitality
                      She will be your cello

The windswept Hawthorn
Sacrifice's self to
Sweeten souls
                      She will be your viola

The Rowans shall play together
Enchant with
A final spell
                      They will be your violins

And you
You shall conduct the wilderness
With such intensity
                   The world will slow to attend

Meet me at
the sun polished Crater Lake.
In such lavish light,
the fir, pine and hemlock,
are warmly baked.
Woozy trees, drunk on the beauty.
Inebriated with a
moment of the stolen still.
These stoic bark creatures flaunt
pristine emerald and jade frill.
The long desired water
possess's the purest hue.
The deep cobalt blue,
lazily yet hypnotically,
extends an invitation to you.
The lake's shimmered secrets
hold the most ancient truths.
The charcoal mountainous flank
boast's of thousands of years old.
Stirs a riveting lazy pleasure
in my soul's craters.

Wind glided through the forest ringing like bicycle bells as it blesses the leaves with its presence,
Making a magical sound.
The canopy moves in a synchronised dance
Waving goodbye to the breeze.
There's a harmony and a melody that can never be overlooked.
The woods come together in this special movement creating wonder for those on earth.
The pine trees have practised their rehearsal a lot of times
And the cold wind is their music.
Some pieces of wood that are now painting the forest floor, strewn all over were once giant creatures greeting the sky.
Now they mould into the soil below..
But the circle of life goes on as it often does.
These tree barks are now home to ants and caterpillars and insects and tiny creatures with no home.
Even after a tree's death, it can provide life to many beings.
Little vines creep up over the brown on the forest floor, making sure that the dead tree barks don't feel lonely.
Everything humans do is for themselves.
We give love because we expect love and loneliness is our imperfection.
But nature teaches us that the entire forest is one,
Breathing together, living together, dying together
And even after death, growing together.

The path into the black tree forest
can hear a lost soul's silent cry.  
The trees, black entanglements
of vacant limbs climb towards a pale sky.
Black bark configurations.
Excite the shadowed imagination.  
The black trees absorb despairing
thoughts and worries.  
Awaiting the sugared innocence  
of those first snow flurries.
Here, like a fallen leaf,
the heart's decayed foliage is quietly buried

I sit under this tree.
Life is slow,
and so
it should be,

in the face of nature's show.
I sit and listen closely—
I'm sure I can hear her grow.

So for her,
her age is not a number;
her rings are all that count,

as are the secrets kept within her,
of all she has seen below—
like those who have been kept waiting
by the loves that never show.

I want to breathe in the field,
Where the wind is warm,
And drink the air deeply.
It’ll be so awesome!

I want to lie in the grass,
Give up to the sun bliss,
And fall subtly asleep
In the shade of trees like in a kiss.

I want to inbreathe more deeply
The honey odour of flowers.
I want to hug the air
And be in there for hours.

I want to make it true!
I need it for being alive!
I'll hug the air! I’ll kiss the sun
And maybe I will revive!