Into the verdant pleasures of a woodland walk
where earthly dust dances in dappled light,
and floating mustard-seeds lure me deeper in.
A fairy moth brushes past my skin
and draws me towards a tiny cobweb hidden amongst
unfurling fronds of bracken in the midday sun.
Watching the tiny wonder weave its magic
on this green and wondrous world, I meander
from one small path to another, drawn more dreamily in.
A snap, a rustle, and enchanting birdsong,
peeping through the tall grass, the twitching nose
and wary eyes of a nimble fawn disturbed
from its breakfast table by an uninvited guest.
Aged oaks stand guard with long gnarled toes,
extended cankered fingers feeling the air,
and wizened faces watch over their busy domain.
Maybe, up above, Oberon and Titania
wait to play their midsummer mischief once again.
But this is no dream.
Standing in awe, a mystical fairy-tale scene,
Summer solstice perfected by sun-drenched trees,
shafts of light illuminate the flow at Falling Foss,
and two people in love, about to take their vows,
to seal this woodland spirit, and capture the sun
in their hearts, lost to this wondrous glade forever.
Whitby Writers Group 