through the green forest softly without a sound

"through the green forest softly without a sound,

wrapped in a still mood

as in a cloak and a hood

i went, and cast no shadow in the shadow of the wood."

edna st.vincent millay

overnight everything turned rainy and cold and cozy. i spent the day in rainboots and calico, exploring and wondering and reading poetry like in a dream and could not remember where i was headed and felt like i was twisted in gypsy mist. i spent the thundering afternoon at a wood paneled pub in the pines with plates of sherpherds pie and pitchers of beer and pool tables. we were celebrating a baby's birth; we were celebrating leavetaking and springtime, new life and the refreshing of earth and the swelling of waters. i spent the night at a campground by the river and awoke early to hail on the tin roof, patches of sun and shadow, starlings and hummingbirds and wild geese calling their tiny babies to follow. i sat on the deserted terrace over the wide slow river taking branches, soil, birds, fish, bramble and berry for rides to secret swirling coves.

and i listened to forest songs and made another mix tape and thought about things that have happened that will never happen again and animals i've loved and strange and mysterious sights i have seen.