meander through the wood

as i meander down the wood
the wind whistles a whisper
not understood
it bends the grass and blows the leaves
skittering, spinning
it acheives

a fall-ish day
for bookish delights
to walk the wood
and see the sights
for hair to snap in blowing breeze
and harvest smells that whiffle trees
the earthy scent lingers
of decay
the mushrooms grow
the branches sway
all is dead
in color coats
listeless, waiting
the sunshine soaks

the wind whistles
now understood
as i meander through the wood


  1. Did you write that poem ? Cause I love it ! :)

  2. Did you write this, Bethany? It's beautiful! I love it.

  3. I didn't write it...I scribbled it out on a hill while I was practically eating my hair because the wind mercilessly blew it into my mouth simultaneously freezing my skin off because I forgot a jacket . As a tribute to my cold neighbor I scribbled the poem, hoping to appease his ruthlessness.
    Ha. No avail. I still froze, and my toes still complain from its bite. ;)
    In conclusion - yes I did write it.

  4. So you wrote that?
    It is a great compliment that I assumed, at first, that some famous author had written it. But it was you! I am impressed.


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Maira Gall