Like an ooze of slow snail trails,
this glowing warmth, circling in on itself, grows
along a path that nature had nurtured.
Green leaves and brown fungus sprawl,
smelling of promise and death and rebirth, aromas
of evolution and sex, shoving life through the strata of the Earth.
There's no tending needed in this fen,
no aspirations of tidy rows or hemmed-in vines, leaves
unfurl freely here, feeding from a sun-kissed beam, all systems in harmony.
Photo credit: E.R.G., 06/13
1 comment:
This will do.
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