Monday, 31 August 2009
The Rowan Tree
There must be a reason why the birds flock to it.
Why the magicians wands were made out of its branches. Why when you see it, you stand mesmerized by it.
Why the devil supposedly hung his mother from it.
The Rowan Tree will hold your gaze and tell you stories, should you care to listen. As it’s branches sway silently in the barren Dartmoor.
The burning red of the Rowan tree holds all memories and all stories and all myths and all witchtales together.
I wish I can tear myself away from an urban life so thoroughly disgusting and listen to it talk to birds more often.