There is a place, like that of imagined dreams.
I have ventured there once before, walked the winding paths and often do now in silent reverie.
Where there are woodland corridors veiled in emerald greens, golds and browns.
And mist hovered over the damp earth, enveloping the leafy path.
My Eyes stung at the brink of tears.
When I breathed deeply and took in the moist air. Took in its sweet dirt-like raw sent, I invited the wintry bite it brought, how it filled my lungs so bitterly.
My breath took form in billowing mist as it protruded from my gelid lips.
And I habitually rubbed my hands together as I exhaled tepid breath into them, an attempt to allay them, from the airs inhospitable iciness
The early morning frost adorned and transformed the foliage into the enchanted virescent jewels of daybreak.
They glistened brilliantly in the Pale Beams of feeble sunlight, which trickled through ancient deciduous trees, trees that lavished their leaves upon the dark earth.
The Falling leaves that taper at the tip, flickered and leapt around coiled and knotted branches, they danced nimbly with the crisp morning air.
So clearly heard, the ethereal song of dawn, composed in the pallid gray light.
A treasury of symphonic chirps, the birds harmoniously sang in unpredicted patterns.
The irregular beat made by the business of alert woodland creatures that burrowed, rustled and grazed the open glade and confined canopies.
And the old trees that creaked and groaned at the boughs and branches, sharing together secrets and tales of yore. As the fiercely whispering wind lashed its hissing melody about the arboreal life.
How beautiful are the woodland corridors. I was and am deeply rapt by the intricate form, by the innate beauty.
There is a place like that of imagined dreams. Imagined dreams and beyond is this place. I have ventured there a many a time. I will venture there many a time again.
A place of woodland corridors
