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 Thin Skinned Darkness

Has emerged for us on earth. How are we going to ride it?
 
Paradoxically, as a child, I experience thin-skinned darkness in the majestic pathless unpeopled forests. The canopy of tall trees, whispering high above to each other in secret languages. Leaving us humans on the moss-covered bottom in the dark. Soft bare feet. Mama in her wide long light-blue skirt, smiling Papa, little brother, little sister, further off, invisible and yet present. Family is spread far apart. I know their presence. Der Wald ist dunkel, und schön. Durchsichtig. Transparent. Dünnhäutig, thin skinned. We each ­– sammeln Beeren – collect buckets of berries, blue and red, in pregnant silence. Blaubeeren, Walderdbeeren, Waldhimbeeren. Blau und Rot. Food to be transformed into a simple dish, berries with milk – heavenly. And jam or jelly for the winter, our vitamin supply.
 

The fifties in Bavaria, Germany. Post war. Our displaced small family. For me as a young girl, times are resonating with an intricate symphony of trills, buzzing, swooshing, howling, screeching, cuckooing, lullabying. These sounds were provided by the voices of institutions and humans, cultural movements and the roads of painful renewal after utter collective destruction, morally and physically. All complicit, nobody exempt. How to find consolation, safety? I count the cuckoo’s call. How to know wholeness, healing? In dire circumstances the smallest gesture brings comfort, a piece of bread, old potatoes, a few berries. The poem below is for our future generations worldwide and in America who we cannot protect.
 

Thin Skinned Darkness
 
In dark woods, a child swells with awe, raises her eyes
thick canopy, trees hugging, sunlight barely seeping through
dense needles, leaves, branches, feathered spiderwebs and slowed time
woven into a buzzing realm of transparent dragon flies, mingling rainbow wings
hooting echoes, owls in spacious dark cathedral – girl’s gaze falls to the mossy floor
its startling softness musky, here unexpected growth brings forth mushrooms
Waldpilze, Waldfrüchte, hidden forest dreams burst into existence
 
Steinpilze, Pfifferlinge, Walderdbeeren, Blaubeeren, low to ground
without thinking ten nimble fingers find tiny wild strawberries, blueberries
beneath green foliage, when tickled the unassuming bushes release their riches
without delay these creatures blindly fall into her palms, generous offerings
lips tracing each orb’s rippling or smooth surface, surely she deserves
 boldly tingling aliveness arriving on her tongue, mouth’s cathedral
filled with wonder, sweet fragrance, juicy restraint
 
lucid tastes surprise the girl’s palate, awaken sacred dialogue
intimate voices speak of the unknown, a faint fear, fleeting, curious
comfort, whispers, Mama and Papa are further down in pathless woods
filling their buckets, little brother and sister too, whenever another big
round Steinpilz shows its head, with smaller siblings not far from it
life’s belly rises and falls invisibly, in thin skinned darkness
girl feels safe, enveloped in Being, squatting low
 
unknown earth, the future prepares with melodies
or are the sparkling sunbeams the give-away?
delayed light gathering in vertical shafts
many a berry is tinting girl’s tongue
beautiful deep crimson purple
leaving her fully fed
consoled
 
Karina Epperlein, Berkeley, September, 2025


Wald = woods, forest      dunkel = dark
schön = beautiful      blau und rot = bue and red
Steinpilze = porcini, cep, penny bun       Pfifferlinge = chanterelles
Walderdbeeren = wild strawberries     Blaubeeren = blueberries   
Waldhimbeeren = wild raspberries
 
(in the above poem all fruit are wild, tiny, and full of intense flavor,
porcini sometimes delightfully big)

Art by Antonie Cosentino 
(pages of her Art Journal 2023 – 2025)
Courtesy Antonie Cosentino, Ramona, California

Antonie Cosention, born in 1938 in Bavaria, married to Dante, is a prolific artist and art historian. She studied, worked and exhibited in Munich, Italy, New York and Southern California. In the past months, you can find her on Sunday mornings on the street corners of Ramona with a small group and their handmade signs demanding democracy.
 

And remember?


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