Mid-Summer Magic Showcase

[Colm Roe]

The earth incubates us, and
is slow to anger,
our assaults take generations
to prompt a reaction.
Like a new born it's there 
defenceless, beautifully scented.

As a child I was closer,
bringing in the hay, cutting turf
or before dawn, from cooler heights 
where the world appeared to be
nothing more than the grey space
between a million spider webs, spun
only, to catch a mist of tiny diamonds, 
herded cattle to lower
fresher pastures.
 
The earth
took no insult from our tramplings,
all the while sharing itself 
communicating,
gorse or ferns require just one sense.
In those quiet hours 
folklore became real,
some mushrooms must not be disturbed
unwritten treaties between the fairies and us.

They're just stories, passed down 
from generation to generation 
to protect children
and maintain a balance

but it's all magic for me.