Tale of the Boggy Woods

Yesterday I sought out the boggy woods and made my peace with the rain. The skunk cabbages were happily submerged up to their leaves in water. Water is their essence, after all, and the hot August days will soon cause them to dissolve from within and turn into lacy skeletons.

Fern fronds waved lazily beside the skunk cabbages, and the duckweed swam upon blue sky and white clouds.

Green embraced everything, creating an inverted canopy as it enveloped the roots of a downed tree.

Frond upon leaf upon water--a verdant mosaic that wove a quiet spell around me. A spell so powerful that I stepped off the boardwalk into a boggy place and rooted myself in a dark pool. I became Green Woman, mute and still so that I could trace the water strider's arrowlike wake; count out the rhythm of the bullfrog's croak; feel the skitterings of squirrels and birds on my limbs and in my hair.

And then I emerged and sought out a dry spot under an oak tree. I followed a mossy trail and shrunk myself down to curl up under a bower of ferns. Later I will collect the acorns as they fall like raindrops.