Lady of the Forest Bog
Hopping over a damp piece of earth during a walk in the forest surrounding my home in Parry Sound, something made me pause. An unremarkable, gnarled piece of rotted wood poked out of a muddy pool. Dripping, I carried it home to dry out over the fireplace.
Woodworking is not something I do often, or have any training in. Staring at this disintegrating mound in my hand, I had no idea what it could be, or had any plans for it. No bother though - as with any creative project, I simply started and kept playing until it became something.
Using whatever I had on hand (think: sandpaper and knives) the rot fell away, and my kitchen table and lungs were lined with a fine, black film of dust. Working parts of the wood and leaving some twisting, crumbling bits, I was rewarded to discover an incredibly hardened core, jet black and streaked with golden red. Slowly, she revealed herself with the faintest hint of a face, a hand, a cloak - all in swirling, forward progression. Her hardened face would only allow the slightest of definition by the kitchen knife. Oil and beeswax enhanced her colour and shine.
Despite hours of effort, at first glance, she still looks like a nondescript piece of twisted tree. To see her, you have to slow down, take a really good look and loosen your focus.
Isn’t that also how we see the subtle workings of the forest in its ever circular flow of life and death?
This is her story…
From a place of sodden, sunken earth,
the Lady of the Forest Bog rises.
Between the roots she emerges,
up out of the darkened muck of fallen wood, leaf, needle and bark,
long churned into dank being by
rains and springs,
granite and wind and sun,
pine, birch, maple, oak, cedar,
bear, bird, bug, squirrel, deer.
You can see her face peering from a swirling cloak
of red, black and crumbling bark.
If you saw her at all.
You’d mistake her for a piece of gnarled, twisted root,
and step over her to the dry path beyond.
She glides, graceful,
sailing poised through the forest floor.
Weathered, and hardened with age, her blackened core is strong as stone,
where rot and spidered roots give way.
Carrying the old, deep essence of forest,
She brings life to the foundation of the canopy’s skyward reach.
Slowly, and with care, she glances behind,
Ensuring labours done well.
Satisfied, the Lady of the Forest Bog sinks,
back into sodden, sunken earth.
Lady of the Forest Bog by Sarah West (2017)
