Bumblehill

Art & moor from Terri Windling

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How I Go to the Woods

Ordinarily I go to the woods alone,
with not a single friend,
for they are all smilers and talkers
and therefore unsuitable.
I don’t really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirds
or hugging the old black oak tree.
I have my ways of praying,
as you no doubt have yours.
Besides, when I am alone
I can become invisible.
I can sit on the top of a dune
as motionless as an uprise of weeds,
until the foxes run by unconcerned.
I can hear the almost unhearable sound of the roses singing.
If you have ever gone to the woods with me,
I must love you very much.

- Mary Oliver

Art above: “Spring Watch” by my neighbor David Wyatt

Photograph: Tilly at the threshold between hill and woods, with the bluebells just starting to bloom.

More words and whispers on woodlands and leaf green myth at Myth & Moor.

Filed under Woodlands Dartmoor David Wyatt Mary Oliver Tilly Forest poets

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