Through the forest´s
Greenwood aisles I walked, away,
Away, and to the hills
Where the colden autumn wind
In flaming leaves it talked.
Long was my trail,
And, tiring, down I sat
And closed my eyes and listened
To the rustling leaves
As long a time ago I had.
There the trees,
And with them I grew,
From root to root I whispered,
From word to word
And deed to deed
My burning tears
A crystal gem.
And root to root,
In silence did they grow,
In darkness, and in light
And tangling with each other
For a reason I don´t know.
A gate of trees
Stood, side by side
With tangled roots they grew
And suddenly I knew:
As branch to branch,
And leaf to leaf
With tangled crown and root...
And might it be,
They die from lacking light
Might be they
In twilight they decay,
But their yearnful longing
It formed a gate,
And thence a star
Rose in the night,
A cloaked child,
In hooded shades,
From the twilight stepped.
It guards the way
And guides us there
With lantern and with sword
Far away
To the land of dreams.
Those are the adventures of Mr. Fimbulmyrk, in bushcraft and blacksmithing, mountainbiking and hiking, reenactment, writing, singing, dancing, stargazing and having a piece of cake and a coffee. Pray have a seat and look around you, but be warned - the forest´s twilight is ferocious at times.
Freitag, 16. September 2011
Tangled woods, tangled roots
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