By Veronica

A dream of trees

Back in my favourite birch wood, on the way back from yoga. The trees are fully dressed in green now. Extras: a mono version, and a very surprising hedgerow with florist-worthy lilies entangled among the pomegranate blossom. On this sad day, Mary Oliver gets it right as always:

There is a thing in me that dreamed of trees,
A quiet house, some green and modest acres
A little way from every troubling town,
A little way from factories, schools, laments.
I would have time, I thought, and time to spare,
With only streams and birds for company,
To build out of my life a few wild stanzas.
And then it came to me, that so was death,
A little way away from everywhere.

Mary Oliver, A Dream of Trees

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