The trees will soon be barren, all. It is that time of year -- the Fall. The understory never was, and can't now house the insect buzz. And, so, the woods stand silently -- nothing treads in peace, nor violently. It's empty; devoid of motion: life hides below, as in Oceans. It does feel like we're out to sea - a strange place where both sides are lee. And - so - we're stuck, we can't move on, but can see promise over yon.
in a thriving wood, sits a barren patch of understory. oh what tales locals tell about the patch that can't grow!
for any deer pair,
there’s one cautious,
& one obstinate.
the morning sun
shines through the canopy.
understory: dungeon.
it’s cool & rainy,
but the canopy is green:
last days of summer.
a mined gouge in the hilly, green landscape: reclaimed by trees.
The forest is parted by a line of asphalt. Speeding cars send leaves fluttering. Everything that crosses that road is imperiled by someone's need to get nowhere quickly.
tree becomes log, which becomes fungi food: treeness transformed.
topping the ridge, the pine forest ends, & desert begins.
through winter woods,
the hilltop clearly stands
that hides in spring.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 