- Vol. 04
- Chapter 06
Bone stag sings to the pregnant tree
holds a bundle of twigs, wound like a mass of veins round a heart. He points to the moon – to the scratches the stars have left in the dark sky. The tree nurses life to her heartwood, stays calm, stays quiet. She remembers how once, in the madness of March she made love to a hare, handsome and leaping, dancing and long-ear mad. His paws played the tune of the moon on her just-buried roots. He slept in his scrape at the base of her bole, curled into her bark – she loved the shock of his soft. They said such a match could never turn to fruit yet a leveret grew inside her, magic as night. When her time comes, she will nurse him on acorns she makes.