Into the Maritime Forest

The path turns from dirt to sand,

trees aligned make way to dendron curving

- living memory of all winds never ceasing, ever-present;

turned diminutive to be in their home ever-moving.

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This copse of trees is young, bright, and deep

not yet tracking visitors and trespasser;

preoccupied with reclaiming, being a traverser

with miles to cover before they finds their keep.

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The aster, the plum, pepper bush, and foxglove

keep silent track of relatives crushed and plucked.

Wren and sparrow, watchful, follow the rushed

as lone Person looks over shoulder and brach in cautious stops.

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Walking among pitch pines pitched towards land inwards

twisted, gnarling limbs to the marshland stretching

in inverse of waves to the sand it goes towards

hidden in sight history of a place moving.

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Shadow and sun in movement envelop

glass wort and shrub the ever watchful crop

among pine needles and lilting sounds, shifts develop

taking time giving reminders for Visitor to look up.