Migrations

Like geese arrive in winter,

the people I love returned.

The house was full of their laughter.
Their conversations ebbed and flowed in every room.

Then as quickly as they came they left again.
Silence grew like cobwebs in the empty spaces of the house.

And now the woodlands beckon me

for if there is to be silence I will choose the silence of the trees 

and if there is to be loneliness it is the loneliness of forest I would crave.

So I will find myself a hidden place within a womb of woods,

a nest between the fissured trunks;

and under arching limbs.

I will curl up small and rest my head

on banks of bracken watching the grey relentless clouds pass by.

      

And I will sleep;

my dreams infused with moss and sap and old dead leaves

until the sadness seeps away.    

(C) A McNaught