The gaps between walks stretch and collapse these days and today the winds shimmy in song and ripple ~ summoning and releasing invisible presences in air, on water, through the winter valley
The whisper touch of living and dying, honed branches and fallen leaves speak in shapes shifted from puddles, on the gravel, at the well
birds disappear from the branches, song making presence in their spaces
ivy fern leaf litter humifying nettle forming oak giving hart’s tongue licking undergrowth at the well
we are nearly at the shortest day