Swollen with snow-melt this chilly May morning, my face reflected in the puddled path, commonly referred to as 'The Green Man', or leafy man, also called Le Feuillou in French, and in German the Green Man image is called Blattqesicht. In many of the old gothic churches, there is a face in the Church covered with leaves or sometimes the leaves in these carvings or statues show all around me green is resplendent in its coat of arms.

Seedlings sway as a bird calls its mate. Only human voices rankle, as if left outside too long. I sense synchronicity as potential for new language, as a woman and her dog trot pass me without missing a step.

Since I was last here several trees have fallen, leaning over the trail. I walk beneath them like a groom, entering a stone house with no walls, tasting caustic smoke, cold embers, a bag of empty beer cans tipped over.

 

Disturbed
by my approach
a single goose
takes off

flying low
over the creek
disappearing
around a bend

 

With almost
human smell I am
not good company
for man or beast
 

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