The forest holds its breath
Just before a winter’s dawn.
It is then that far southern starlight
Casts an ethereal glow
As time itself slowly awakens.
Trappers. Fossickers. Explorers.
Soulful fragments of adventures past
Linger within faithful shelters
Where yesteryear rests,
Encrusted in lichen.
The coolest of nights
Seeps into aged timber bones.
The truths of century old tales
Decant quietly in the shadows
Where smoke and laughter once reigned.
Adorned in silvery arborescence,
And shrouded in patience
The glade enwraps her prey,
Ever so gently
Beneath a blanket of glistening stillness.
Armed with the weapons of decay
The forest wields the elements.
Spreading her soul and masking her intruder
Forcing slow surrender over time.
The currawong warble heralds the dawn.
Pausing the metamorphosis.
And shrugging off feigned enchantment
She will continue her quest. Tomorrow.