healingwords: poetry for the soul

This country walk and the 'Algarrobo' trees inspired years of bedtimes stories for my children and is still one of our favoured paths, through olive groves, past pine and fragrant rosemary, down to the river.  THE MAGIC TREE Our favourite walk, tireless chubby legs skippity jumping around the ‘camino rural’, tiptoed peering at frogspawn as black jelly dots sprout wriggling tails, whip powered before morphing into hoppy, speckled froglets in the stagnant trough. Peeling fallen ‘mandarinas’, oil squirt of sharp citrus bursts in  orange mist, wipe our sticky fingers on dew spangled leaves, chewing leggy fennel, green sap zinging liquorice, collecting  spiral snail shells, mossed stones stippled with emptied homes. Tread familiar path to the old 'algarrobos', hollowed trunks bearing looping branches, grounding, rerooting as ancient trees spread their green canopies over boar snuffled earth, sweet dried carobs jumbled  like pic...

From my roof terrace I look over the valley pinked with almond blossom. It has been a warm dry January with crisp mornings but no frost, perfect weather for the nuts to set so we should see a good harvest this August, when the nuts are knocked with canes onto waiting nets, exhausting work in Summer heat. The village once hummed with shelling machines, as nuts were bagged for storage, ground for cakes and pastries. Sadly with an aging population and a younger generation who can not make money from agriculture, almond production is in decline, the supermarkets selling cheaper Californian almonds, exploiting their water table in a sad example of the environmental damage of global food production.  This poem describes the 'almendros' particular cycle, leafless in Summer, blooming in Winter when their blossom delights the senses.  WINTER BLOSSOM The ‘almendro’ keeps its own cadence, waxed feather leaves burst emerald green whilst Winter trees sleep through valle...

Weeks have passed since I have been able to be outside in nature, this poem reflects our need to ground our energy in the earth. Thanks to Chris Knight for the photograph. GROUNDED IN THE FOREST In the eye of my mind I travel swiftly to the green forest, liberated to dwell in peace with the tree family, deep rooted in the living earth, their canopies spreading filtered shade, strong boughs embracing the sky light. I stand soaked in wood aura, the scent of damp leaf and herbal moss tranquilise as warm sun strokes my pale cheeks, starved of radiance. A breath of wind ripples summer leaves, murmuring like a cloud of moths’ wings. Bending low I fiddle with tight laces, pull off my boots, stripping thick socks, to stand barefoot on the forest path, cool seeping into soft skin, pampered, protected, I wriggle freed toes, rock stiffened heels, bide time until belief quells my wariness. Step after cautious step I walk the woodland, commu...