Mary’s House?

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?

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