January 20, 2016 § 1 Comment
She is loam, and layers of autumn leaves; she is deep old forests, and she is the caves and hollows therein. She is the heavy scent of a den in dark earth, the spaces between tree roots. She is moss and mushroom and vine, shed antlers, old bones with new fern fronds curling up between clean-picked ribs.
There is earth, and then there is loam, the rich black dirt formed from layers of decay, pungent and powerful, seeded with life. She exists in that transformative cusp between death and life, and it leaves its indelible mark upon her earth-flesh, tree-bones, woods-heart.
She is the ancient forest floor in an old-growth wood.