Friday, November 12
WOOD SONG Daughters, when they come we will hide in the forest, we'll cross the meadow and the orchard, their shifting rooms, till we are deer in the woods -- the quick-footed hind and her fawns -- and we'll slip through the thickets or take the water's scentless course, and follow the lichen brightening north, and I'll keep you warm where we nest beneath the bracken's tangled roof and in the morning when we wake we will move, move, move, beneath the dark forgiving hand of the clouds with the slightest weather moving on, and when our feet fall they will fall like rain, and there will be no catching us, and no harm will come, so keep close daughters in the woods where we run, for we are tracks in the dew vanishing at dawn, we are mist, we are rain, we are gone. (Fiona Benson)