This was written after the ‘Creation Walk’ that I did on the second day of the retreat.
I could see ghosts.
They were but fleeting images
Of times both past
Children nestled on the undergrowth,
Covered with the shade of trees.
Old man trees crooned and groaned
As we walked through
The copse of the woods.
On top of the mountain
Where the ground gave way
To the yawning hills below,
The view was flooded with ghosts,
Crawling to and fro
And waiting for us to find them with