Early morning
Still sopping with dewdrops
Water crystals coat the woods in hallucinogenic reverie
Another night's reward
Birdsong, just now, proclaims boldly the new
Sun rising triumphant
Soft rays filtering through
Branches and bramble and bracken
Gently, but resolute
Escorted by giggling, winged fae
Ancient and infantile
Forerunners from time, from beyond the register of this epoch
Pixies still drunk and dizzy
From nighttime merriment, exude withal
Singsong vivacity on this fey forest morn
Heralding the adamant and amenable awakening of this sylvanscape
Nymphs, dryads, sprites
Strange beyond words to commonfolk
Fluttering here, then there
Still pause their games sharply
Shaping deep genuflections as the stag crosses the river
Patriarch of the forest
Regal in bearing, stoic in spirit
Tawny coat resplendent, antlers twisting skyward
Eyes sharp and dark and burning
The spirits of this woodland defer, gracious and swift, to manifest royalty
Breath heavy, deliberate, expelled through nostrils
The hart of the forest
In his power, in his eternal grove
The trueborn monarch is in no hurry
Enigmatic gaze sweeps over the realm
Sees all and is satisfied
While ageless faeries bow and recite intonations
As tribute
Who can tell the unknowable magic of the deep forest
Arcane power
Beneath our very feet
Past the outskirts of town
Yet
Every single one of us is privy to this hallowed record
The antediluvian chronicle
Written by eyeless scribes
The cryptic, the magical, the phantasmagoria
We bear witness in our innermost verdant souls
Though most cannot see
Or do not
But the pulsing forest sees all, and will outlive us casual