The following piece originally appeared in the print anthology Into the Glen: Into the Light
I’ve heard tell
of a secret grove—
a treasure trove of
aerial roots of many
trees conjoined
like dripping candle wax,
like netting,
like funnel cake,
stacks upon stacks
of inosculations
guided by the ministrations
of tiny hands
over years,
the pleached roots
coaxed and braided
into tiers of pathways,
platforms, terraces, branching
double-decker bridges
spanning the forest floor,
a complex of
interconnected
meetings of
distinct organisms
reaching out
and growing together,
tension thickening the roots
where they anchor
into the ground,
the bridges sound and true
and well networked,
guided into most pleasant
twisty walkways
and uneven surfaces
and stable structures
over generations,
the patterns as wild
and unhurried
as the slow path
of sap, these living
linkages a
wondrous sight,
small and spreading,
where fairies alight
and wander,
where they go to rest
their wings, to forego
their constant
easy way out,
to ground themselves.
I’ve heard tell.
