Winter lingers like a petulant schoolchild:
Clouds jostle for position, darkening with rain.
A sudden chilled wind rushes from the storm’s
Leading edge, stirring birds to flight.

Natural drains roar with the shower-fed torrent.
Trickling streams become dark-mirrored cascades.
Wind-blown branches whip sharply, some toppling
Under the relentless beating.

A fleeting slice of sunlight rolls across the distant hills.
The first stirrings of wildlife crash through the thickets.
Robins race for food.  Songbirds raise tentative voices.
The charged air is filled with the smell of wet
Foliage.

The rains would soon resume.  His usual crossing
point had already vanished.  He settled back in his
Lean-to shelter, finished his meal, and pondered the
Approaching darkness.

The warped woods were unique in there standing,
as when a certain assentation was perceived they
would no longer reach for that unattainable  
objective of what was beyond there ambition.

So they would seek in sense the joining of there
aspirations to be more than what was perceived.
When one of such long longevity was to be entangled
with another then a connection was implemented.

In the holds of a veil, only stars shine on the appendages
that wait with leafs of needing of daylights caressing.
But as night slept within that moment a conjunction
of seeding woke upon the dawns yawning.

The aurora swept over the conjoined branches that while
separate were void of happening. Upon the moments
that the rays of sunrise kisses caressed everywhere,
then the destitute became vibrant and what wasn't was.

The Woods were of two root systems, when conjoined
whisper's of the planets  echoes where opened and a
footstep was a milestone of miles instead of impressions.
the animals were like children playing upon this system.

Always making sure that when the sun decided it was time
for its rays of life to sleep that they were back at the focal
point. Those not lost were sleeping well, but those that
were eclipsed as night suffocated the land of sight were stranded.

With every motion of the warped woods, each day was a
verity of randomness. But each was cautious of there time
so not to linger in lost solitude, to never taste the air of there
homeland. The woods of everywhere but steps to the unknown.

A lone wolf wanders
The howling soul love won't touch
In dark woods he hunts

Into the woods I go
To fall in love
With the coyote’s souls
And let them
Eat me whole.