forest soup

[saw]

following the Stemmers Run
is like following the shadows of time
it is the only thing that is real
centuries mists swollen with argon
trees long in the root, and me
a pebble with eyes and a soul,
and a bottomless heart, I feel
almost normal here, like I should
have been a gray squirrel or
a striped chipmunk instead of a man
and they rarely run away if you talk to them
they come close to me, curious
why a man is so far off the blazed trail
and I coo back birdtalk and ask them questions
these cousins of the woods that are here for me
I get a whiff of the pungent forest soup
simmering in the cold sunshine, and I have come
with my own bowl and spoon

[winddance]

great to walk in the woods with you. reminds me of the auntie mame quote "Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death"

[sasha]

the old Cheshire rail-trail...
the Birch Hill WMA...
Otter River State Forest, and
the unnamed woodlands surrounding my house...
different churches, same denomination -
places of worship to marvel at how enough Small
can make a Large -
to almost grasp the meaning
of why certain trees grow here
but not there
and vice-versa...
to almost glimpse the pathways
great rumbling glaciers plowed
a mere 100 centuries ago...
to commune with chickadees
too frightened to come close, too curious not to...
to help a turtle return to the water
or a toad clamber over a log...
to turn my back to the noisy grime of the world
because sometimes you just need a bath