“In the Weindorfer Forest”
Tides of wind are regally swinging
King Billy pines, and nuzzling all
the indescribable things below
only the lens of eye to capture real beauty
only the thin drum to hear
the tick of accumulated mist
on to the clock of forest floor
then bitten on the ear
only the nose to breathe in the
slow seeped sap
and only to the mind to run
to where all this wonder might
be tapped
Or, what strangeness of place
this green haven might trap.
Last Few Words: Apologies for the lack of presence, or interaction for a while, but I've been up in the Cradle Mountain National park in Tasmania. Lots to see, lots to capture (plenty written). One such place was "Waldheim" or "Home in the woods" I think. An old cabin, resurrected and too wonderful to describe, see here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gustav_Weindorfer Anyway. a short sketch of place, good to go - good to be back. :) Chris
Style/Type: Free verse
Review Request Intensity: I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing Stage: Editing - draft
Comments
Thanks Mark,
Certainly very lucky to have the opportunity to visit such a place. Thanks for reading.
Cheers.
Chris.
Hey Hommies!
Certainly a totally absorbing place, provided a lot of inspiration. Thanks for the comments.
Cheers,
Chris.