Wisdom of the Wildwood

Wisdom of the Wildwood

Far under the deep forest canopy,
Within the bright haze of the morning mist.
I dream of the light that I cannot see,
As sunbeam and forest begin their tryst.
Souls of the deep woods and wraiths of the trees,
Move through the greenwood as wistful dark dreams.
Arboreal titans bend with a breeze,
That ruffles their coverlet with its streams.
With daunted wonder, at reverent pace,
I silently tread the cathedral floor;
And whispering stillness imparts its grace,
As trees share memories of brake and moor.
Woodland and grove only slowly impart,
The ancient wisdom of the wildwood's heart.

Mick McKellar
September 2016

I have always loved long, slow walks through the green peace of the deep woods.

Mick

To Sing The Story of the Night

To Sing The Story of the Night

    Are all dark nights truly empty?
    Soundless skies say nothing to me.
    Perhaps they are only waiting:
    For patient hand, or restless mind,
    To sow amid the sweet silence,
    To write upon velvet softness;
    For willing arms to reach out, and
    Gather harvest from out the stars.

    Does timid silence rule the night?
    As fleeting thoughts dance, dart, and play
    Mid lights — of silver, blue, red, gold,
    I climb the towering darkness.
    I glean the precious, fabled fruit;
    To hoard, to cherish, then to share.
    Saved in my sweet, elusive dreams,
    Such grandeur, idle fantasy.

    To free my mind is all I ask —
    To hear sweet music in each light,
    And courage to complete my task:
    To sing the story of the night.

Mick McKellar
September 2016

I love to gaze at stars in a velveteen sky, and see the serenade, the majestic music of starlight in the darkness. What I capture and share is but a pale portrait of colors without name and music that moves the spirit.

Mick