Dryads’ Mist Greetings

At dawn I awoke to morning mist
The air between the wood and walls
Thick with vapor, a low, still white cloud
My head as fog-rich, I sipped morn

I dressed warmly and stepped though my door
Face and hair dampened as I strode
Back to the green, brown and fire tones
Wrapped in the white breath of the sky

I found the rough path to wood-center
And made my way to the words-place
Needles and flaring leaves urged me on
Until the clearing enveloped

In its circle small flames danced low
On coals glowing warm, heating forms
The maple trickster and pine beauty
Crouching with eyes gleaming at me

I sat before them, drying in warmth
We exchanged kind glances, no words
Listening to the forest life stir
Learning much from our silences

The girl of the pines was made of lines
She was defined by clear features
Her hair straight and still around her
Her lips a kind curve, face soft-sharp

Maple was chaos and fast movement
Spiral fire-locks a tangle
Her fey smile could hide any secrets
Both mystery and mastery

I know not what they saw of me then
Perhaps some sense of otherness
Or something between their contrasts
No matter, they welcomed with life

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