This poem is one I posted last year, but I feel the need to dance with the trees once again and remind myself of the simplicity of life. The title image was taken on one of my favourite walks back home in Lancashire. I’d park my car just south of Newton, then follow a path that took me over the River Hodder and up onto Hodder Bank Fell. On the other side of the Fell, I’d meet up with the river again and follow it into Whitewell. From there I’d circle Birkett Fell and head back to Newton, where I started. A lovely walk in the Forest of Bowland. This tree did indeed dance with the wind, responding to whichever way the breeze would blow. It did not seem to mind the variability. I ruefully reflect upon my experiences over the last few weeks and have to conclude that I am less flexible. I will need to ponder some more and perhaps write what I have learned, but for now it is time to dance!
Good Sir, shall we dance? I said with a glance. In the shade of that age-old tree. His big strong arms And his genuine charms, Held a power for all comers to see. His canopy wide, Yet deep roots, he did hide, As we obey the etiquette of ancient court We swayed with the breeze With consummate ease Our romance, though gentle, was fraught I return now and then, To that pale woodland glen, To gaze on my love come to naught.