Leaves and branches with their canopy thoughts,
pull darkness into the woods like water from the soil.
They dream dark dreams of quiet places,
where the birds fly in slow motion across the star studded sky.
There is no rush of stream nearby,
no roads for fast cars to skate along.
There are only trees with dark leaves that tremble in the wind,
leaves that burrow down in the darkness.
Their lullabye
the sighing of the wind and
the rustle of night wings.
~LMH
You have to read a book called Between, Georgia. It’s some lovely magical realism.
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