
Leaves scatter
shushing, whushing,
crackling,
beech, oak, pine
coat emerald moss,
nature’s mulch
piling up
around my feet.
I pass under
the gate
still firmly shut
in welcome.
Mary’s House
is carved out
of Forest Peace.
Hemlocks so
rotund I cannot
begin to
circle them
don’t stop me
hugging a tree
that beckons…
Under the surface
cambium breathes,
having been seen.
A sister gestures.
I stand beneath her
soothed by rough skin
and a fountain
of green fronds,
cascading needled
Grace.
I imagine cracked stars
at night.

Striped green and white
partridgeberry roots in
fertile ground,
clings to speckled stone.
crimson fruits ripen…
A slanted
noonday star
fractures light
under a canopy
of elders whose elegant
crowns converse overhead.
Below,
root tips embrace
fungal networks,
engage in animated
conversation.
Beech leaves
wave golden
fingers.
A cluster of
Armillaria
captures my attention…
One dying maple limb
lets others grow.
From death to life
- Always –
- Nature in the Round.

Whose dream am I living?
Is it really true
I will find Refuge here
by a river
in whose reflection Mary’s House appears?