Beneath the ferns and bramble of the remote woods,
Creatures of darkness pass through uncharted pathways
That they alone know of through instinctual travel.

Few could guess the commerce that passes through those channels,
Surface unruffled except for the summer breeze or the impact of rain.
Only a scattered ray of sunlight shines through an occasional gap in the canopy.
Nostrils open, whiskers extended, the various actors make their entrances.
The fleet, long-footed forager against the patient carnevore.

I hardly dare to tread where I might disturb this activity.
The busy denisons of secret forests recall me to my own disquietudes.
Under that placid foliage, in the churning world of murmors,
I might well find myself.

Andy Oram
March 15, 2017

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