Secrets Waiting to be Heard.

The wild garlic plants clothing the steep embankments of The Hollow are in full bloom now, their white flower heads held high and just the faintest hint of their pungent aroma beginning to permeate the subdued light of the sunken lane. Above them the fresh fronds of resurgent bracken are curling outwards and upwards to augment the dense carpet of wild ivy hugging the invisible earth. And surging skyward out of this natural wonderland are the old trees at the top of the rise, multi-centenarians in many cases, proudly displaying their gnarled trunks and heavy roots encrusted with ancient mosses.

This is my world and these are my people, but their outward display is hiding something other than the tales they could tell of centuries past and people long gone. They sometimes whisper hints of their arcane knowledge to me in a language unknown to my human mind and unheard by my physical senses. One day, maybe, I’ll learn to hear and understand it.