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479

I have gone
to rest awhile
in the arms
of the Council
of the Twisted Hairs
to catch my breath
and learn
a better way of walking
the Good Red Road
that remains to me

mushrooms
sprouting overnight
they glare across
the wrinkled patches
of earth
that gives
them space
shaded by
their own caps
they accuse each other
of blindness

the moving spore
that feels no root
attaches

the silver birch
once girdled
shrugs
and breaks
through canopy
to sky

~~~

© Elaine Stirling, 2014

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