WILDWOOD WAYS 



This solid floor, woven by winter witch- 

 ery, goes on through the spongy surface 

 of the bog, mingling with it, yet by some 

 necromancy never interfering with its 

 own intricate patterns of growth. The 

 sphagnum fluffs up through it with its 

 delicate fiber unharmed. The pitcher 

 plants sit jauntily holding their ewers to 

 the sky, filled with ice instead of water, 

 to be sure, but uncracked and waiting in 

 rows as if for bogle bellboys to rush with 

 them to unseen guests. I found one 

 flower-scape with its nodding head still 

 persistent. The seed pod had cracked 

 along the sides, but the umbrella-like style 

 was still there, opened and inverted, and 

 it had caught many of the seeds that 

 the pod had spilled and was holding them 

 for a more favorable season, without 

 doubt. 



Everywhere the solemn cassandra 

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