Exposed in open spaces,
Tense crackling, odd peculiar scents,
Stepping over bracken and mossy rocks,
Vulnerable and lost,
Open to the unexpected,
Creaking briar, twigs, jaggy nettles,
Boulders to step on
To see over the streams and where they lead,
To a little brick house that offers shelter.
But how many times have I sought shelter
And found it,
Only to have my peace and faith trashed
And crumpled up,
And thrown back on to the path.
Arrows taking you back to
That real easy comfort zone,
That you tried to escape from,
But always end up returning to,
Because the woods
Are a scary place.
Little Red Riding Hood
By Saito Tomoko