It’s that time of year. The time I have to say so long to summer and all my forest friends in my magic woods. It’s bittersweet; but they need to rest as do I. We need to harvest the moments, give thanks and crawl under the blanket of winter to sleep and awake again next spring.
The river will slow down, the moss will collect; the trees will shed colourful tears as the earth is adorned in ornaments of decay. The forest sways to the bitter kiss of wind’s farewell. My furry and feathered friends enjoy a last hurrah as they reap their harvest for a long winter’s keep.
It’s time to go. The veil is being lowered. Sweet dreams faerie friends, I will tuck you close to my heart so you won’t be far.
She has a voice.
Sweet and serene.
It rustles her canopy and warms her footing,
It plays with ripples and rocks, while dancing in the light of her moon.
A cheer for the new day.
A prayer for the end of a season.
Songs of birth and sorrow.
Hear her whisper and scream.
Give audience to her laughter and longing.
A conversation with one or many, who choose to listen.
A secret language, spoken one breath at a time.
Nature’s native tongue.
Listen closely for it is music to your soul.