I don’t like to stay on the main drag of the woods;
trees grouped in cafe clumps
& with ritzy trunks,
leaves rustling with such loud laughter,
lit up with fairy lights
& moon shadow.
I like to roam off-path
in tangled undergrowth;
river seeping,
oozing from ancient mud
to wet my feet,
stones in my shoes.
Nothing has been cleared to prep a pastoral path
for modern wanderers.
The earthy scent,
the truth behind fiction.
What lurks there besides me?
That which knows how to hide.
Behind knotted, gouged bark,
clinging fungus
thrives forgotten.
Caught under crowded canopies
unprotected
life is lost/found