FAERY SEAT



I came across this old tree trunk on a walk near my home. It reminded me of the 'night drives' of my childhood. After waiting for my baby brother to see a train pass at the level crossing, we would drive round the lanes spotting night creatures in the headlights before stopping to see the faery tables, a field of old tree stumps where the woodland folk would eat and dance. This poem is a homage to my parents who gave me a lifelong love of all things dancing at the edge of our imagination. 


FAERY SEAT



Abandoned grove reclaimed
as hand of man retreats,
Garroba limbs twined
with over grown olives,
silver blades flashing as
wood chimes with birdsong.

Old Garroba, hollowed
by years of fruitful giving,
sweet smell of carob
mingles with pine scent,
tree perfume wafting
on freshening night air.

Sculptured wood cave,
cragged bark lined
with woven cushion,
sharp needles softened
as green fades to shades
of autumnal decay.

The shy folk hide in
holm oak thicket, watching,
chuckling as clumsy boots
slip on mossed stone,
wait for evening peace to
smoke pipe on wood seat. 



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