30 Days of Wild Writing – day 4

Being Alder.

The river melds with her voice. And the distant motorway. A trio of transcendance. A superphonic sibilance of susseration. Words from beyond. The watery rustle of Alder breezed through and breathed through. A voice that echoes the iron hard body, under water tough. Maybe the song of the stream telegraphs up the root stock to sing with the wind to the sky. A brilliance of tone that takes me through the veil to other places. Alder - Axis Mundi. The journey tree. Taking me. A grandmother tree that births the riverbank, holding back the incoming meadow. Nurturing the edge place, a gentle protector. Steadfast, strong, surviving.