There is a Witch in these woods,
and I know her.

I know her by her eyes,
Taking in the falling of a leaf
As though it were an epic film,
Her gaze wandering from the trodden path
To where water meets Earth and sky.

I know her by her hands,
Lingering on the trunk of
Every tree she passes,
Caressing the rough bark as both
Lover and friend.

I know her by her wonder,
At the tiny silver schools of fish
At the gliding turtles
At the track of a cardinal
Through the canopy of trees.

I know her by her delight
Transfixed by the weaving of branches
By the dance of a dragonfly
By the patterns of light
On the shadow-dappled Earth.

I know her by her silence
Listening intently to the birds
As if she understands their conversation
And hearing, eyes closed, the language
Of stone and oak and cloud.

I know her by her footsteps
Light and sure on the riverbank,
Quiet and unhurried on the path,
With a handful of stream-smoothed stones
Rattling in her pockets.

I know her by her kinship,
By the butterflies who linger,
By the squirrels who take notice
And then go on about their business,
Unafraid.

I know her by her presence,
Seeds and nuts left in offering,
The rise and fall of murmured prayer
The barest touch of magic
Wherever she has walked.

I know the Witch in these woods,
For I have met her reflection
And perhaps if you are lucky
And walk softly on the Earth,
You may meet her too.