Circle

the old crone of the wyrding way woke early this morning to the misty dawn
collected odd offerings from the forest and began her brew
today was an important day the sol would be in just the right position

she had a request to make of the dawn
as she gather bits of bark and moss she chanted under her breath
little affirmations of her belief in the forest and its life giving source

she huddled around her bubbling pot
throwing in some mushrooms for good measure
something in the forest was disturbing her
a dark forbodeing pressence that prickled her spine

a sprinkle of black birds had moved in
this by itself said a lot since they had never approached in her thirty years
she took a deep breath of her steamed potion
and exhale silently

a hush overcame the bush
the trees sway and seemingly opened a path
in the mists of their branches was a shadow

she collected her crystals and went in
placing them at the roots of the affected tree
knowing tree communicated through their leaves and roots
she hoped to heal the ailing tree
who had kept time and memory of the forest

a trembling in its boughs answered her query
something wicked this way come
she brushed the tree with sage
and breath in the heady aroma

the heaviness of the moment passed
as the light broke through the darkness
the trees gather and the circle went unbroken