A magical meandering
among Snuffleupagus trees.
The thin limbs of children,
wind for wooden chimes in
a labyrinth of mellow sound.
The darkest boughs
trim the path,
carved creatures
dusted with a light powder
of the fairest makeup,
smoothing the wrinkles
of a long winter furrow.
Fräulein Forest,
she tiptoes on a white carpet
of pinecone confetti.
A vision in verdant,
she’s ready
for the winter thaw ball.
Starlings scream for spring,
flutes of new shoots
whistle with full belief
that lighting won’t strike
the same forest again.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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