In the Woods   It can happen when you walk in the woods — not always, sometimes, and once is enough: you see the invisible forest, the stuff between. Sometimes the trees are buried, shouldering last night’s snow, everywhere is silent, still. Then a soft rumble as a pine drops its burden all at once, and a fine white cloud thumps heavily down, and meanwhile nothing is perturbed, silence is restored. Again, the stillness. Or in summer, when the woods throb and the light of the sun drives the season’s teeming madness, and the more you look, the more you see it, unspoken, shimmering around everything alive.     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont June 2016