Words and Lines

Shades Of A Tall Tree

by Tris Kerslake

Beckon me, just off the road through spiralled squeals of golden birds and unlaced green. The hinted mystery of twilight that shapes a velvet path among the resting leaves, hides whispered histories and time.

Slim sentinels of lavish white on guard before a majesty, an ancient queen, taller than her father of the plains and lonely as a tyrant. Her face is shrouded by a veil of summer emeralds.

Cowed beneath dictated sun, the parasols of dainty fern and twilight fuse in hushed pavanes where flash-blue wrens play hide-and-seek and chitter, elegant as crystal, courtesans of finest altitude.

Essence creeps around the feet of many years, a sweeter musk than all the blooms, no damask rose could ever make such fragrant symphony. Exquisite balm of sovereigns that softly shivers all the senses.

And shadows hold their breathing secret, cloaks of gently rustled darkness hover all around and in between like spies. Rising from the shades with flagrant innuendo the royal flanks soaring proudly serene.

A subtle chill and the mood is gone the moment dead. The saplings stand apart and still, hanging ferns have lost all reticence and the birds are hushed. The vacant pathways trace an echo, the queen is only sleeping.