Spirit of the Forest

There is nothing here,

nothing.

Light and shadows of leaves,

and stillness.

Even the birds are silent now,

as if waiting 

for something to pass.

There is nothing here,

nothing.

You who walk here,

this is what you tell yourself,

what you would have yourself believe.

Why, then, does your step quicken

towards the light at the forest’s edge?

Why, then, do you no longer 

glance behind 

as you tread the carpet of leaves?

Have you so distanced yourself

from my world

that my body has become a thing

of revulsion to you,

something that you would prefer 

not to see?

How, then, do you imagine me?

Brown mould-face, 
tangled twig-hair,

cracked bark-flesh?

Look!

Look now, right behind you,

if you dare.

For only by daring to look,

will you see how beautiful I am.

Look, look now!

Perhaps there is nothing here,

nothing.

Just light,

and shadows of leaves,

and stillness.

Dryad  by  Victoria Pettella