Tall trees reached for the sky, their branches intertwining to form a leafy canopy. Through gaps in the foliage, rays of sun shone down like spotlights, illuminating patches of forest floor.Ferns unfurled in shades of emerald, while flowers opened to reveal hearts of gold.
Caleb walked softly along a mossy path, listening for any sounds from the forest. A bird call here, the buzz of an insect there. He sensed the forest was watching him, though no eyes were visible.
Pausing by an ancient oak, he ran his hand over the gnarled bark. Stories were etched in every groove and crevice, a history carved over lifetimes. he inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of earth, of evergreen.
The forest never failed to feed his sense of wonder. Each visit revealed some new marvel - a hiding faun, a patch of singing mushrooms. Magic lingered in the spaces between the trees, waiting to be glimpsed.
As Caleb rounded a bend in the path, he spotted a figure seated amongst the ferns. It was the figure of an old man, gazing intently at a patch of sunlight.
"Good day, traveler," Caleb said softly.
The man turned, revealing warm eyes. "Ah, a poet I see. The forest has been expecting you."
Caleb smiled. "Do you live here?"
"I am but a guardian," the man replied. "My purpose is to maintain the magic of this wood."
For hours, they spoke of the enchanted forest - its hidden glades and whispering spirits, the magic that resided in every leaf and beam of light. As the sun began to set, casting the forest in golds and oranges, Caleb knew it was time to go. But the memory of that place would live on within his poems.
Leaves sing songs of gold,
Tiny bells in mossy halls,
The forest calls me home.
Bright ferns spread like wings,
While flowers nod their velvet heads,
Quaint woodland beings.
An ancient Oak's wise boughs
Tell tales of seasons come and gone,
Of life and decay.
The crooning of birds,
The hum of drowsy woodland,
All weave a charm's spell.
A ray of sunlight
Dances upon forest floor
Like magic made form.
The forest holds
A secret deep within
Its gnarled wooden heart.
A place of wonders,
Of marvels just out of sight,
For those with eyes to see.
And through it all runs
A thread of magic old,
That binds all in one song.