Dark pines line the sacred water
The dense grey moon waits, life returning
Someone with a large heart must come
Drink from the green water
Learn the old ways
The road is dark, filled with danger
Many hearing the strange stories
Fall by the wayside, returning crestfallen
to their old lives, wishing they had been braver
To find the way through
The smell of pine nuts overpowering
Linger in memory, sounds follow your footsteps
Tiny chattering voices fill the air
You cannot enter, you are not wearing red shoes…
© Anita Dawes 2021
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