june 9

june 9 stream
we find a damp tip frosted with horse chestnut candles(goat willow) and feathers – mist of dripping blossom the black water holds this muzzy skin still and bell like all things caught and held in its soup  stillness again I am low to change of earth to water mud filled from moss old bog to dull ranges of shuffled off droppings of trees and grasses, spring and burgeoning lumped as if some strange dust is now everywhere like a loo in which someone has hardly peed , it is like a skin over the water a layer only for this moment before things sink and fill in, disintegrate and merge even the trees seem knee deep in this dust liquid as if most were icebergs and were underneath hidden, toed down that the liquid is stronger than the solid – a roar of birds a large disturbance a whir  wing hitting leaves- faded bluebells stand yellowing the flowers closed and mauve leaves like thick yellow fur on the ground – spindle stems still straightly vertical – i am itching with insects the biters are out especially around this lunge deep soup, heavy I know it looks like small sawdust from planing not chopping wood and thats how it dusts the water – I need to lie back again even as my bitten finger and neck itch – give in to the pull – I lie on my side my two feet deep into sludge feels like a fairy tale as if my feet are dissolving into water as if my body becomes water at my feet and the bed of my body meets the bed of the ground while my feet slip away i am facing sideways again at this low low angle – why do we never look at things from ground level? Its all slowly slipping to the left an ounce of wind has shifted the furry surface to the left. i am alive with insects and the cold of the dull mud goes into my thighs, feet in it all bubbles up like a   I am sitting up now on a hillock of a tree feet close together in the water feeling comfortable, a footpath of the world! No need of fancy care , to bury ones feet in wellingtons in a black pond with time to sit is a reconnect to the live wires of radio of life cut, itching hard bone against branch light more than any time in the day welt appearing on my neck and backs of hands – I am gladly eaten by these tiny beasts we are all at it together, eating, consuming, using, giving, becoming each others cells inseperate, this is my netting  not animals, though more – birds are hope of course and miracle but its this earth this stream this living flesh of water, that air me, fill me, translate me into
a trembling frog skips nervously by legs stretching out displaying its yellows and a delicate stretch I gasped, unexpected encounter

later another adventure after getting los and prickled we found our birthing tree – now sitting after i feel my heart I really do but this time I took off my stuff – took breaths stayed in the open bit where I saw the light then traveled on – a moment, a twinge before I began a thought of – well no I don’t need to do this I slowly did it – as I came through the roots I twisted gracefully to be head up back to ground arms reaching in front of me and slowly, easily drew the rest of my body out and over the roots – it was graceful and easy I fitted and flamed gently through body held by root and let go by root – boots and socks off the cold need to traverse under the uprooted tree crossing the stream seemed , i mentioned baring all and making a way under the low tree and in the water – we took off our trousers and slowly bent down to curve under the  trunk of the sideways tree and rose the other side then returned – a cold dipping of the legs, of feet finding the floor of the stream of bowing under, we are moving with the stream now becoming children but not, then I needed a baptism upside down legs cold, I bent down holding the tree and doused my forehead and head this was the shock this time – so cold and touching another bowing bowing down its a gratitude shape, an easing shape.
I am looking at the earth i’ve crawled through the roots I have leapt from the tree I have dipped under the stream that has cooled me, the ground that has held my feet, no reclothed. I can reenact the ceremony in my head
into depth into root into earth slide out and slip around roots opening and closing water encasing legs dip under tree close water to bent body head meets stream i am elemental I always was as flesh is the tree as body s the trunk as blood s the stream as eyes are the twister together of it all – as evening begins and the quid of it all means I want to be nowhere else it is that moment of shadow dusk waiting to smooth over.
i have lived with this caught in the tree, caught in the tunnel fear for 2 weeks anxious heart fribulating all sense of self lost in an anxious rioting and nerves pulsating glancing off all and losing, pushing and pulling – on edge, on edge, nervy and lost and losing t and blaming/saying it was the tree the panic and fear of being unable breathe in the roots of a tree – some symbolic birth – now I have been through again i only hope it will flow and these unlearnt rituals will becalm the unrest mind and peace me.

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