Eyes Of The Forest Poem by Miki Byrne

Eyes of the Forest.

The old road...winds. Twists.
Sinuously slithers. Gravel scatters
like dried peas into the side ditches.
Whispers into brown water.
Marsh marigolds flare. Bindweed spirals
slyly into the hedge. Thorns rise
like fine blades. Tiny stiletto'd branches
with needle points. The blackthorn
protects its sloes.
Ruis* and Huathe* hover. Slide along branches.
Stretch toward leaves held like open palms
toward the sun. The keepers of the forest watch.
Duir* notes every broken branch.
Each sick creature that curls into its lair.
Or licks wounds inflicted by blood-lust.
They ponder upon the nature of humanity.
Wonder about cruelty. Gather their world
safely to them. Retreat. Back into the boles
of Birch and Oak. Coil into the new green shell
of a beechnut. Pull silence around them.
Blue sky shades to mauve and purple.
Clouds fly golden-edged, with a nimbus
Diamond-bright. Below, in the lane
a tractor growls like a hunting beast.
And moves on into the fast fall of night.


*Celtic wood spirits.