In these forests,
the fern fields
flow onward in green waves.
You step carefully,
not knowing what is hidden
beneath the fronds.
Vines grab your ankles
wrapping around to keep you here.
I will most likely not struggle
to free myself,
but will, firmly held by the green,
Miss Atkinson is a wanderer, who likes quiet green things, and silent forests carpeted with moss. The inspiration for “Fern Poem” was born in such a forest.