Myths and unsolved mysteries unfold
But are not quite understood
From under the canopy of dear Oakley Wood.
 
Medieval, Roman, an Iron Age fort,
Theories and legends inspire quiet thought.
Conifers for profit ever greened the wood
Until friends of wildlife came to make good.

Dark and brooding or freshly greened trees
Hundreds of years crashed down in minutes
Mycelia and man, ancient and modern
But now a new generation must learn.

Foreboding, forestalling, forecasting the future
Supporting young saplings and learning to nurture.
Generations strolling the paths in all seasons
Perpetual pleasure, no need of reasons.

See a colourful tapestry of heralds for Spring
Anemones, celandines, violets such happiness bring
Preceding the bluebell, vivid and intense
Distracting so happily the human sense.

The singing of birds heralds the rhythm of seasons
First cheep of Chiff-chaff from far distant shores
Then squeaks of Goldcrests are a Winter miracle
From Scandinavia, Russia, who fathoms the reasons.

Symbiotic trees, dark and brooding, we need to appease,
But life springing, eternally in fashion, 
Eternally in fashion, bringing mental release.

By Liz Sheehan