Roundhouse Risen

Dance pixies in the woodland
if you squint and let your mind run free.
Glimpse boar and deer that forage here
for acorn feast and tender tips
of sweetly sprouting saplings.

Through wisps of mists of time
hazel weft on ash pole warp
is woven, muddy daubed.
Unspoken secrets are revealed
by hand of children unsuspecting
in their 21st century roles.

We raise the poles.
With lash and binding
we secure a future residence
of unexpected learning,
finding ways to tie the future
into days of oft unwritten
sense and understanding.

Handing on the knowledge
of the product of our years.

Beneath the oak tree
cluster spreading bands of folk
encircled, drawn by Grey Beard’s art
and forest lore, enjoining all
to seek and to explore the realms
of heritage and wisdom.

Connecting earth to smoke drift sky
we prime our kilns with potter’s craft
with dish and bowl piled high enough
to tumble.
Carefully we tuck and tend
with loving care extending grasp
of principles and process.

Delicious lift the bread hot cake
enchanted as we are by living
with such simple pleasure.
Aromatic and alluring, following
the honest graft we rest awhile
at leisure, treasuring the glory
of the day, drifting for a moment
quietly absorbed, absorbing.