From my window I look upon the trees, tall, reaching for the sky, fingers of green that want to touch the clouds or some unearthly heaven. Underneath your boughs the rich smell of pine. Brown needles, soft underfoot, as I walk through your darkened glades. Here and there, where a tree has fallen or been removed, light reaches the ground. And it is here that moss grows in thick green cushions dotted with lady fern, or the green tongued leaves of harts tongue fern that stand proud. Closer to the woodland edge, thorny brambles do their best to take hold. Or the heart-shaped leaves of ivy run across the ground and make their way up the trunk of trees, seeking light. The drains, full now of over-night rain, heave with mating frogs and specked black jellied spawn. I need to etch this place into my memory for tomorrow it could be gone.
The poem above was written as part of writing 201 poetry course. I have taken quite a bit of liberty with today’s prompt with was Fingers. The form today was prose poem – which I found so much easier than yesterday’s ballad form for which I have only managed one verse of which I am happy with – so you may have to wait for that to appear on these pages! As for assonance – today’s suggest devise, I have just left the poem flow and not tried to force anything was that wasn’t coming of it’s own accord.