On a midnight stroll, to catch a breath of air,

She and I approach the dark peaks of the forest,

         The accustomed mystery luring us into its snare.

Enchantment guides us into the crumbling wood,

         And as branches stroke our arms, 

         They grasp a wistful touch at us where they could.

Allure is seeping from the nebulous trees 

         whose branches are pierced by the glimmer of the stars,

And we breathe in the air the trees gift to us in a breeze.

Below us, softly our feet shatter the brittle leaves

         That lay the woods carpet 

         Even on summer eves.

Tickling our skin, the cold air accompanies our stride,

         and the fog gently laces the crowns and branches with a veil;

The forest is its bride.

The arms of the beeches hold kernels in their clutch,

         which are kindly offered to us.

The spikes prick our touch.

The familiar moss paths soften our pace,

         it is tapestry crafted to be trodden on:

The host welcomes us with an embrace.

We pass through tunnels of thicket

         Leading us into a different world.

The waxing moon illuminates it.

But as the crisp wind carries it to us, we hear the grumble, 

         the low pulse of drumming hooves, 

         shrill whines distantly drawing in on us as they mumble.

With a glint of despair in her eyes, she turns to me,

         As the thunderous stomp grows louder and louder.

         The urge for flight grips us, and shakes us, the trees whisper: “flee.”

The cold air creeps, the fog crawls,

         Tearing like cloth between stems

         Shrouding in mist the forest’s halls.

The moss betrays us, it is slipping,

         conspiring against us cunningly.

For hold, we are desperately gripping.

Tree roots grab our heels, tear us towards the bushes,

         Only now do we notice

         How the thicket is conspicuously black and malicious. 

Like the evanescent fireflies in our minds fleet,

         Orange light gleams near us.

The forest ground seems to swallow us complete.

Vines lay claim to our arms, chaining us

As we finally break free into the road, 

         the luminescence of the lamp posts frees us.

Outside of the woods, we stand once more, 

         It has released us from its snare,

         The last waves of shadow ebb at its shore.

Carefully we sweep, with our scraped hands, the dust off our knees

Strolling up back the hill and whistling,

         for tomorrow we will return, yet again, to these trees.