Let my Eye be an Illuminated Leaf



Along the beech wood paths;

besides the young and middle agedand ancient beeches;

graceful, flat, slanting branches, ~ dark coins of leaves

on sunlit, illuminated leaf coins.


 Besides the gnarled and age old oaks

and the great, tall, sun burnt boles of Douglas firs;

and here and there what a 17th century writer described as

‘these, ancient, venerable vegetables.’


Pollarded,  protected, hollowed, hallowed  and ravaged old men beeches.


 And here; we wander through the myre,

where dragonflies dart and butterflies flutter and dance

above the seeding grasses.


Within this dipping field of beeches;the ground is thick and soft and bright with the years layers of decaying leaves.

And here is a monumental, ancient tree, the ground around it’s hollowed trunk; heaving with ants.

 Absorbed in their own business, carrying bright bits of leaf and stem.

 Yesterday, in Victorian catacombs, we gazed at the decaying remains of coffins;the painted, decorated wood and velvet embroidery crumbling and grey, revealing the lead casingthat holds the last remains of the long gone.

I would ask not to be encased; or burnt, when the time comes ~

let me be buried beneath a tree, let insects and worms make feast of me; until I am become a tree,

my eye an illuminated leaf.



Ingrid Andrew<> HeartsSong


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