Music Welcome to snoozecast. The podcast is designed to help you fall asleep. Find us at snoozecast.com and if you enjoy our show, please share us with a friend. This episode is brought to you by Secrets, Strange and Sweet. Tonight, for our final selection in our Woodcraft series, we will read selections of the author's poetry, published as Forest Roons by George Washington Sears in 1887. Sears was a writer and adventurer who penned essays on hunting, fishing, and camping for popular journals and magazines. Runeck Alphabets are native to the ancient Germanic peoples before they adopted the Latin alphabet. The earliest Runeck inscriptions found on artifacts give the name of either the craftsman or the proprietor, or sometimes remain a linguistic mystery. Due to this, it is possible that the early ruins were not used so much as a simple writing system, but rather as magical signs to be used for charms. Although some say the ruins were used for divination, there is no direct evidence to suggest they were ever used in this way. The name Roon itself, taken to mean secret, something hidden, seems to indicate that knowledge of the Roons was originally considered esoteric or restricted to an elite.

The Bluetooth logo is the combination of two ruins that are the initials of Harold Bluetooth

The Cormson's, who was a king of Denmark from the Viking Age.

Let's get cozy. Close your eyes. Relax your body into the softness of your bed. Now, take a few deep breaths. Forest Roons. For I like him best in his morning face, untired with the daily race he runs, and him sometimes sad when he yields his place, to the winds of night and the lesser suns. I apply the thread and the bright endole to the runes that the woodland thrushes sing. And the splash of a tiny waterfall keeps Mary time to lapstone's ring. And little I wreck as I shape the soul of scanty clothing or empty purse. I sing the ballad of old King Cole or wear where my leisure, on simple verse, the man of millions shall pass away, his wealth divided himself for God. But better one leaf of deathless bay than all the riches that rust and rot. And at rare, odd times, in the better moods, some rustic verses to me are born. That may live per chance in their native woods, as long as the crows that bowl the corn. Crags and binds. Who treads the dirty lanes of trade? She'll never know the wondrous things told by the rugged forest kings to him who sleeps beneath their shade. Only to him whose coat of rags, as pressed at night, their royal feet, shall come to secrets strange and sweet. Of regal pines and pietaling crags. For him the wooden shelf unlock the mystic treasures

which have lain a thousand years in frost and rain.