the neverwoods
- ella maria fiore
- Nov 10, 2025
- 2 min read
Pan’s flute rides the wind.
With Nibs on my left,
and slightly on my right,
the boys and I dash towards Hangman’s Tree:
keen to tell the Father of our latest adventure!
Arctic water glazes across my ribs, running down my spine.
The leap into her arms giving me life: skull rock swims into the horizon.
The Towering form of Mariners Rock commands its rightful role.
Sirens wave as ocean animals smile with delight:
mermaid lagoon is eager to play.
Pan’s flute rides the wind.
Peg-leg pond awaits expected company.
The cool of Deadman’s cave offers refreshment.
The leaves of Tiki Forest call out my name: Daughter.
The sands of Blind-man’s Bluff,
usher and steer our steps.
Damp fauna glazes my shoulders,
marking the smell of rain and reptile:
Crocodile Creek is underfoot.
Oppressive humidity tugs at my being,
as fog beckons over the waters:
Cannibal Cove calling its next.
Pan’s flute rides the wind.
The Black Hollow nipping at our heels,
chasing the boys, Wendy, and I.
Pirates Cove echos gunfire: The Jolly Roger is hungry for a duel.
The glittering of Pixie Hollow trots after me,
the dust of faith & trust.
The spirit of the Lord, its light.
Sprinting through Indian Camp,
as Tigerlily weaves her tapestry: we finally reach the ravine.
Softly creeping, intention in every step.
Emerging from the tree line,
there He is.
A fire has been brought to life,
our beds have been prepared.
The Water of Life in deerskins,
the Bread of Life in colocasia leaves.
Our Father has built a His house around us.
Feet settled.
Thirst satisfied.
Bodies satiated.
So we’ve come as His bride!
Children of God: make camp in His place of rest!
For the journey we seek is in Him,
and His journey is everlasting.
Where His dreams are born, and where His time is planned.
- A.D.
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