Yet, if humans, could perceive the forests life...below ground, they would realize...this is the time of 'cuddling', of staying warm, of listening for 'the human' sounds above them, dog sounds, rabbit thumps, and squirrel hops, the 'diggings' of scurrying small animals, in the snows, or moose, elk and deer...making their winter beds.
A darkness, now above ground until winter 'half time'...'solstice', humans call it, the older souls of 'two legs', as the trees say. To the trees, it is all the same...the 'time of inward dwelling'. In those bright caves, they see...many things, and they fancy them...'with lights', just like humans, at Christmas.
Lot's of light, in their dark ground, beneath the snows, the perma frosts, among the mucks, the stones and burrows of their kind, the 'other' end of things, celebrates its brimming life...the 'place of roots'. the ancestry of all memory's.
There are many forest dwellers, below ground, fox, weasel, marmot, squirrel...and 'the fee', so called of the human notion, of 'a fairey', but what they don't know, they don't really need too...now, do they. There are 'elves', and 'grey ones'...and macabre and mysterious beings, that shun the light, nor, are understood at all.
The ground, is a busy place, of warrens, burrows, tree bolls, and twinkling 'lichen lights', full of sodium phosphorous, 'match light'...blue gas, red and yellow...'green glow', only the ground dwellers know, and whose 'specially attuned eye's' perceive, as humans do...in their bright day light.
It is a 'wonder', beneath the snows, the ice, the soils...clinging round roots, from ancient times...communing with all hidden life, of which the humans...never see...or seldom do.
When the forest sheds her leaves, 'the time of beneath' begins, where parties are held, over nuts gathered, grains put aside, greens dried, berries hung, like peppers on hemp strings...for, the fingers of many forest creatures, are nimble...like the 'racoon'. In the dwellings of the 'daoine shee', the great wax candles are put...and they blaze away, and no human hath heard...the heavenly music played, in those buried halls...but a few, chosen well.
Walk ye, human, dare the forest path...for it is one earth, but neath the ground, ye may not be...for ye reside, above the soil...between the earth and sky, until your time to 'dee', to come to live with all light, neath the world...in 'the chambers of the lord'. At that time ye shall see, twas never dreamed, where, 'merry be',we all.
Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico
Art: google pic
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