he opens his heart to birdsong, feels fizz-prickle of bud fissure — a frisson of eternal expectancy. he hungers for strong summer sun but remains stoic under starlight and spring storm. he yawns limbs unfurled, sends sweet sap down to earth; must pay mycorrhizal newsboys for missed winter tidings — cold comforts for the reluctant… Continue reading the green man goes back to bed
By My Solitary Hearth 