#and humid

I- The Woods

I walked in the woods alone years ago, in the summer. There are no memories of any heat passing through the pine trees – It was always cold. Around me, on me, the scent of the rain. It seeped through the soggy canvas of our tent and we whispered about the dryness whose feeling we could not remember.

At night, the woods shuddered through the never-ending rain. It drowned the weak sheen of my flashlight. My feet crept on the little dark path I knew by heart, even when the late hours blotted it out.

The song sung by the rain I knew by heart too. It was different on the forest floor than on the pine needles and ghostly nettle plants that swayed as I walked by. The fabric of my shoes slushed silently as I trudged on, gorged with water and mud. Monotonous drum, ticking of the timeless hours of these days.

We never saw the rain stop in the forest. When the clouds drifted away for the sky to breathe for a minute or two, leaves and branches kept the sun away and still the drops would fall. Fatally. We sung along with them. Our voices grew wet, amphibious sirens sticking to the mossy trunks.

Eventually the rain stopped on the day we left. When I pull out letters and books from these eerie weeks in July, I see stories in their mudstains –

The green grey sound of soggy pine needles

and

the shadow of a drying raincoat, like a lonely ghost

                                                                                  leaning against the wind and the branches.

Poetry request for @courfee who requested amongst other things “the world before and after a rainfall”. I want this to be the first part of a two-world poem, but I don’t know when I’ll get started on the second part so I’m posting this one up anyways…

Thanks for your request, it was a pleasure to work on!