The Oak Dragon
Last night, midnight, the windows are ajar; after the
rainstorm. We have the urge to breathe that cool earthy damped air.
Morning is hazy, impossible to decipher.
One might as well stride out to find a dragon, in this
mysterious weather. We take the long route, enchanted by pastoral views.
The path is a tractor track, bumped and pocked with
bird prints. Off track is waist high in the smoking grass pollen. To the
riverside is a climb; through barbed wire, nettles, brambles, thistles; over
steep muddied slipways.
And if I didn't push through that, I would never know
of this fallen tree dragon.
Walk, marvel, make a beautiful life.
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