Left Untamed

Wild wings seek the wood
Where the Fair Folk wander free
Some things bloom untamed

-Verdant Butterfly

Old tales say the Fair Folk favour the wild paths, where bramble and rowan grow as they please. Wander there long enough, and you may find the woods have loosened more than leaves from the branches.

Beneath the crimson canopy,
I walk where fallen summers lie,
through copper leaves and bracken gold
beneath an ember painted sky.

I leave a few old burdens there,
among the leaves beneath my feet,
where fairy rings hide in the fern
and secret paths through rowans meet.

The weathered trees stand rough and tall,
their branches stripped against the blue,
and somewhere past the hawthorn hedge
a silver flicker slips from view.

So when the autumn wind kicks up,
I let it catch my coat and hair,
and turn beneath the russet boughs
to let it lighten heavy cares.

Ideas come like scattered leaves,
bright fragments tumbling without sound,
a wild echoic woodland dream,
small moments waiting to be found.

A foxglove bell, a flash of wings,
a laugh half hidden in the glade,
then gone before I turn to look,
where gold light gathers in the shade.

The wind sends scattered leaves to dance.
Like me they're brighter left untamed.
The finest dreams I've ever made
take flight before they're ever named.

At last my feet find earth once more,
the fairy music fades away,
yet something follows from the wood,
a spark of wonder here to stay.

And when the sinking autumn sun
sets every crimson branch aflame,
I understand what forests know,
we need not leave the woods the same.

By Heather Patton / Verdant Butterfly