The Grove

Footsteps of barefooted agility,
the sudden leap across a murky puddle,
the dew-glistened grass, reflecting an invitation to my dry, thirsty skin,
a graceful plummet to a kneel, skirt of pink fabric billowing in contrast upon the green of bristled weeds.
The angles of my feet and toes become wet with morning,
as dark willow ropes of sorrow sway in the breeze of sunlight
that shines in from the gray and soft of the sky
causing shadows of light to play with the dew;
they dance around and praise the morning air
below the nests of birds who hark the skies with songs of solitude.
Without man, would this grove be considered lovely?
My curls of blonde and gold, so like the rays that fall upon my crown,
my eyes of blue that search on quests for answers in this world of never-ending questions,
my small hands that extend to delicate fingers clutch a book,
full of thought, full of life,
a whole world of knowledge thrust into a tree's skin,
leaflets of poetry falling from the spine,
black scrawl adorning with abuse the paper,
each space filled with symbols,
arranged.
Not wanting to waste the woods,
the leaflets are pressed upon with ink until they bleed of insight.
The refreshing smell of earth, of dirt, of worms, of fossilizing bugs
trails for miles beneath my body
and I press down upon the center of our globe with toes, and feet.
Without man’s perception, would this be so lovely?
My space in atmosphere remains filled
regardless of my contribution,
good or ill,
and will until I become once again a part of earth,
and I am Nature.
We all do make an impact,
our feet and paws and roots pressing into the center,
keeping gravity, taking up a space,
a footprint on the ground of history.
But is my perception truly honest? History—mankind’s or earth’s?
Perception…
If I weren’t to see this morning
would it still be in the story of the world as glorious, refreshing?
Or is our perception fogged with our own destruction?
Would our refreshing be merely Earth’s routine
if we knew, respected our home?
This grove, beholding the morning haze of light and crisp air,
would be glorious, for life is flourishing, alive, singing, even without me here to observe and contribute.

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I wrote this a few years ago and stumbled upon it within my documents recently.

Happy Holidays!

I just want to wish you all a Merry Solstice and hope the season brings you much Yuletide cheer! Happy Holidays!Pinecrest, California in Winter 2008 (taken by me)