if you take the time to look, or maybe only if you have the right kind of eyes, there are so many doors. even here in the suburb of the Big City; misaligned places that don’t quite fit in the dull maze of million programme housing.
two great hollow oaks. a cairn on a hill, surrounded on every side by houses, but left alone. a hazel thicket. mistletoe flourishing in a tree shadowed by six-story tenements. rowan, rowan everywhere. a giant boulder perfectly balanced on three smaller stones, like a brooding hen on her eggs. so many doors.
all you need is to find the right watchword.
i leave a tithe, when i have something to share. (it’s always good to be on friendly terms with your neighbours). honey, a handful of berries and nuts, a cookie warm from the oven. an especially shiny coin, a small craft from my hands. a song, a smile and a deep breath. a bit of what i make to remind myself and to acknowledge: something cannot come from nothing. what i take, i must replace with something of equal value. my place is not above, but among.
my blood rises in the spring, just like sap.