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A Reckless Fury

I gaze out into the green gloom of the wood, silence echoed by avarian calls.


My steps sink into rain soaked earth, a languished thirst now quenched.


Stark cracks of violence beneath my heel,


Breaking of fallen branches like brittle bones born of the soil,


Limbs torn asunder from verdant giants surrounding.


Returned to the ground as must we all, when comes the time of our own treefall.


The tempest wind of thunderheads herald having made their path known:


Reckless in fury and wrath, yet a mercy upon the land in need of life giving waters.


What is left in the wake, the wind having done it's work?


Summer's boon of vitality, new growth in emerald verdigris.


Beneath the now benign gray blanket of summer morning sky.


The rain is gone and gale's fury with it.


Uprooted is the tree who in ancient age stood stalwart to resist.


One last time.


Broken. Fallen.


But as much a part of it's home, the fortress forest, as it ever was or will be.







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