Cast from expectations of treeless horizons
and concrete enforced cities,
we landed here within the forest
which quickly enveloped us.
Towering pines scatter the August afternoon
and we run through fallen needles and shadows.
At the end of the day we rest in the native grases
and watch butterfly wings open and close.
That cabin in the woods,
nestled beneath second generation pine
planted after the last logging,
waits for our visit.
Snow caught in tree-tops
meanders through the winter sky
covering the green roof in a smooth
slope where acorns speed to the ground.
Ravens ever present toward the open fields,
near the old silo base, they rule the open sky
with acrobatics and voices blanketing
the otherwise quiet space.
The nest in the overhang now empty.
Somewhere deep in the woods they watch
with caution and curiosity as the dogs
run circles around that cabin in the woods.
A red cabin in the woods
beneath the pine trees
sagging from the winter snow,
is all I need for solitude.
As concrete melts into dirt and grass
and skyscrapers become pine trees,
I fall into the snow and promise
myself to stay until spring.
As the snow continues to fall,
I am covered until I become
the snow and the earth and
the roots of spring’s growth.
What was a full mind
is replaced with snow,
ice, and water dispalcing
everything until there is nothing.
Stopping at the green gate and the snow covered driveway, the pine trees embrace the winter sky and the morning light, shadows reach across the space between tree trunks.
Too much Time has passed since the last visit and the space feels foreign. While I remember the name of each tree, I hope the ravens remember me as they circle nearly out of sight, their call still echoes through the forest, the only other voice heard above the winds’ song.
Packed snow crunches with each step. Brown pine needles blanket the white surface, untouched except the many deer tails weaving through the trees, reaching beyond what I can see.
The sun’s intensity warms tired bones and muscles. The wind directs eyes up as the treetops sway against the cloud-free winter blue.
Each breath tastes of nature. Each breath brings me back. Each breath brings me closer to a chance meeting with god.
Storms rolled through last week.
Weak and old trees toppled to the ground or fell into a neighbor or
landed on the wire fencing with the orange flags.
Near the pole barn smaller trees were uprooted but the metal roof
still looks new, the green roof glistening when wet.
What little birch are mixed with the pine
still stand, their white and grey skin