ХуЛите - To Kati, the Queen of the Woods, with love

Brown the earth beneath the crocuses,
dark, rich, sweet.

brown the eyes that look upon them,
seeing the shadows meet.

One shadow – hers, of the fairy,
her hair the colour of wheat,
and the crocuses, small and perfect,
lying at her feet.

Golden – the light of September,
born in the gentle flowers.
And golden her heart, her fingers loving,
her silent surprising power.

The Dryad - the singer, the dream
of the old oak’s night,
the music of autumn colours,
the flight of the fearless kite.

A prayer her voice is,
the sound of the wind she sings,
the sunrise her attire,
her soul the wild of the forests green.

You are her – the Dryad,
the promise of the trees,
their memory, their lone grace,
their wisdom and their peace.