A follow-up to my winter Linacre Woods poem
Linacre Woods in Summer
Only the holly remembers the winter.
The rest slept, brown and drenched,
as frost and wind were kings
within these woods. Now they stretch,
reach out to brush and scratch my exposed skin.
Here, between the rigid trees, the sun
spotlights the path. Cow parsley crowns rise
high. Briars mock, rope-thick, dagger-sharp.
Behind, in the depths, the woods call.
Part of me is drawn there, to lie
in dark dampness. Become one with the earth.
Tim Fellows Summer 2021
Image by Valiphotos from Pixabay
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