Tread carefully in the forest, my dear

There are spirits among the trees.

Patient, uneasy, and waiting.

They stay high among the branches or low at the roots;

dancing

With the beginning

         And the end

They whisper sweet things, hurricanes of freedom

Breezes of retribution.

Cold winds howling for revenge.

They’ve made a home in the rings of the forest.

In the moss and the morning dew.

Tales woven in the browning of leaves and the fires that consume them.

Flames dancing under a sky canopied by grief.

Thousand Eyes stares on and on and watches the passing of time.

Do not go into the forest, my dear,

The spirits are hungry.