145: Grove

SONY DSC

 

Ent moot caught in-between groanings, a petrified pause pregnant with soon-to-be sighs and nearly nothings, the circle of trees waits, bent-boughed, towards the centre, knowing the whispers will come. The wisdom is carried in by rustling breezes, softer than wings, truer than words, weaving through pliant leaves and welcoming bowers. Here then, is the place to be found, silent and whole, till the light hits the sacred spot where you sit, when you may smile and give thanks, before heading home.

 

©Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015

 

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