
Crossing the bridge
balsam scents
the air. Climbing
a steep hill, careful
not to tread
on wild lilies
or arbutus, I
follow a serpentine trail
to the porch.
The decrepit screen door
squeaks as I enter
a small oasis
open on three sides
to woods and stream.
Trees obscure
all but one glimpse
of blue and green
– the brook
is less than 20 feet
away.
The spell of water
singing to stone
soothes this strangled
body – exhausted
from anxieties she can
no longer contain.
I come here to
seek peace,
recover a self who
once felt joy –
Do those children
still live?
I query the forest
for help.
Star flowers
bloom at my feet.
For now
it is enough
to feel the pulsing
presence of
young life
circling the camp.
The cedar hid herself
behind a balsam
to outwit the deer.
More firs
spread their grace
over the old deck
needle deep.
An old gray birch
still rots
behind
healthy saplings,
hemlock and pine,
perhaps providing
protection from
dis – ease.*
This old camp is
returning to earth
as I will be
one day…
but for now
it is enough
to lie down
with the trees,
finding refuge
in Green.
*
Forest Scientist Susan Simard’s research indicates that birches may protect firs from root pathogens like Armillaria.
Green is a good place to be. 🙂
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You are so right…
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