For Ceridwen

Ceridwen knows more about fungi than anyone else I know, and when I spotted this one, walking through the Waldport woods with Sue, her brother, and her sister-in-law, I thought immediately of Ceridwen. Back at home, I find Ceridwen is having a difficult time, so I dedicate this gorgeous heap of fungus to her, with affection and with gratitude for all I learn from her.

The poem is one I nattered with during my break at the seaside. I find spacing and line breaks very difficult on the new Blip, so my apologies if the lines seem spacey and scattered.


Waldport Woods Trail


Climbing, we stamp on a foot-thick mat 


of wet moss, springy with years 


of accumulated rain, fern, leaf-rot, and limbs.


A slow-moving newt, rust-colored 


as fallen leaves, exposes nude curves


to the sun, blood pulsing through her 


soft, vulnerable belly. Beside my foot,


the furry scat of a successful predator.


A towering spruce oozes resin,


stripped of half its bark by a bear.


Above the dripping silence, a hawk 


swoops over a meadow while a horse 


neighs, echoing and repeating,


a soprano against the alto of brook. 


The waterfall beats bass notes


on basalt in a cleft that channels


rainwater to the sea.