We continue our excursion through the Woods :-) :>)

Bird as Prophet

The sun is rising, stroking swathes of pink upon the trees,
  as Coo and I bid fond farewell to all at Wayside Inn –
the Cluckers and the cheerful cook, the velvet honey bees,
  and Hap, who tells us, 'Come 'gain soon!' and gives his jaunty grin.

We're early out, to journey very far inside the woods,
  'The very heartlands!' Mrs Cluckers said, her brown eyes bright,
to take of breakfast tea and utmost finest of baked goods
  with one whose splendid summons-song awoke us at first light:

'I, Prophet-Bird, invite two travellers to my home this morn,
  the lady known as FT and her colombine, one Coo,
let Waldsfluss guide thy passage to the spring, the sweet Waldsborn,
  and there to meet, for hot sweet tea and shortbread-splits, woo-hoo!

'Woo-hoo!' dear Coo and I had echoed, keen to make a start,
  so now we wheel along the path beside the river banks,
the shovellers sailing, pigeons gliding, then a sudden dart –
  a kingfisher! with orange breast and turquoise head and flanks.

The forest floor is coated with a carpet, bronze and gold,
  of autumn leaves, here oak, there beech, and chestnut conkers gleam,
one falls upon my lap, released from green and spiky hold,
  to settle smoothly in my palm as river thins to stream.

Now maples stand around us, scarlet, ochre, yellow fires,
  and then, 'The spring!' Coo whispers, as we see the source at last,
a spray of water, endless beads, a host of silver spires
  above a rippling pond; we sit and stare awhile, aghast.

There is a bridge, and from this bridge, a figure waves our way,
  a large white bird, with long white hair, bedecked in rainbow robes,
we move towards her shyly, wondering what we should say,
  Coo offers her a maple leaf with several rounded lobes.

'I thank thee kindly, Little Coo!' Her voice flows like the brook,
  and swift she stoops, embraces us. 'I am the Prophet-Bird!'
'We thought you were,' replies dear Coo, then wears a foolish look,
  but Prophet-Bird just smiles and says, 'Come, try my lemon curd!'

We cross the bridge together and arrive at Prophet's Nest,
  a cottage snug among the maples, stone with roof of thatch,
'Now sit thee comfy on the porch, the view from here is best,'
  says Prophet-Bird, 'and I shall bring our tea and fresh-baked batch!'

We wait perhaps one minute while our hostess makes our tea,
  and take in our surroundings in this pleasant peaceful place –
left, silver pond, beneath the maples, swans swim, two then three,
  then four, five, six and seven sailing slowly, full of grace.

And to our right, a garden, rows and rows of plants and blooms,
  'My kitchen garden!' Prophet-Bird announces, as she sits,
a breeze blows through and carries an abundance of fine fumes,
  as tea is poured and treats presented. 'Try these shortbread-splits!'

We take a shortbread and – 'Woo-hoo!' – the lemon curd tastes grand,
  our tea is hot and fragrant with a spice we do not know,
'All from the garden,' Prophet-Bird explains and pats my hand,
  'and good for travellers, where and howsoever they might go.'

'Your home is lovely,' Coo informs the Prophet-Bird, who smiles,
  'I thank thee, Coo.' Then I enquire, 'And have you lived here long?'
'Yes, very long; my family is from the Waldsfluss Isles,
  and since the Woods' beginnings we have sung our tending song.'

'Please, may we hear the tending song?' dear Coo and I then ask;
  'Of course, my friends!' the Prophet-Bird replies and clears her throat,
then sidles to the front of porch where pigeons come to bask,
  providing harmonies for every clear soprano note:

'Dear Walds, that sprung up round our home in many years gone by,
  we vow to tend thee all our days, to nurture all thy parts,
from water source to earth to plants to trees that brush the sky,
  and all that live their lives herein, we cherish in our hearts!

Dear Coo and I applaud and Prophet-Bird and pigeons twirl,
  the seven swans all clap their wings, frogs jig on autumn loam,
around the silver pond the fiery maples sway and whirl,
  'It is my mission,' chirps our friend, 'to tend my woodland home.'

Poetry by Coo & Co The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 739 times
Written on 2015-11-05 at 00:50

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StillHoppin The PoetBay support member heart!
so many delightful details! and i must agree with those who have commented before me - we run out of superlatives, because your writing draws them forth consistently. there is a gracefulness about your writing, with never an errant word (or feather!) and i loved reading about your encounter with Prophet-Bird!


Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
So beautiful. I wish that we humans were like Prophet-Bird and knew how to treat the land and animals. Your adventures are wonderful and always compelling reading :)

Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Like Fog, I have run out of superlatives to describe your poems. I'll just say this: I was having a pretty rotten day until I read Bird as Prophet. Now, I'm not.

I ran out of adequate words to express my appreciation for your nature poems a long time ago. This is, as always, loving and lovely, in a way - your way - not just a trip to the woods but back in time to a classical way of seeing and saying. The penultimate stanza should be everyone's mantra; unfortunately these days so few practice it.