A hedgerow opening provides an unscripted path,
like a sketch void of color
and where footsteps of mist fall like paper ripped from a book.
Roots below turn with the passing of seasons.
Silent in growth. Solemn, like the bones of names
forgotten.
Night stars and moon shades slant the shadows
of crooked branches onto the brave as they stroll into quiet air,
in search for an opening.
Roger Singer 