I crossed a bridge where toadstools grow,
Atop a river’s gentle flow.
I climbed down stairs that arced and wound,
Until I reached the hallowed ground.
The roots beneath me tangled tight,
To keep the pixies out of sight,
To hide the faeries, sprites and elves
And keep them safe from wicked spells.
I lounged beside a deep ravine,
Encased by banks of velvet green.
And there I heard the waters splash:
A deafening, lunging, slamming crash.
The mossy crags felt cold and damp,
And lichen grew on every bank.
A skein of cobwebs clutched the trees,
Ensconced and sheltered from the breeze.
I saw an otter dive and dip,
His snakelike body roll and flip.
I paused in silence, held my stance
To watch him frolic, lark and dance.
I wound my way through ancient wood,
Where golden beeches long have stood
Until I found a secret nook –
A place to settle with my book.