Never have I experienced
the magical glory of contrasts
until this particular morning
deep inside new mountain spring
where wildwood forest gardens
await the few who venture in...
Everywhere you look you find
all manner of colors, textures, shapes
tirelessly unfolding, whirling, imploding
world within worlds.
I never noticed before
by what steady grace
the ageless y chromozone trees
stand so rooted, so content and giving...
how those guys appear without the need to prove themselves
to all the the soft and curvy hangers on -- nor do they
pose for the oogling male upstarts --
who are leaning from their newer places.
Tufts of silk grass circle and soften those thick old trunks.
Tri-colored ivy dance lines cup dew and last night's rain --
mirroring sunrise while they wind and hug those muscular limbs.
Tall and tiny truths line the rocky paths.
Find the starkest or quietest or most intricate of beauty
around every boulder or corner.
Just look, breathe, listen anywhere in such an intoxicating place
where undulating patterns keep repeating yet with endless variations.
Silvery birch and beach branches lift their princess like arms and sway
against a strong burst of wind. Instantly, invisible curtains open --
the sky embraces a full sunrise -- rare in these woods --
paint-brushings of deep ripe mango spread out against
purplish blue wisps and disappear -- the sun rises.
If you were here, like me, you might silent your soul
in awe of childhood memories...
little bells are quietly ringing from their mini-orchards.
Like me, you might begin to sing along...
"White coral belles upon a slender stalk,
lilies of the valley by the garden walk,"
Turning around to walk back,
you might feel yourself melting into the flat long clouds overhead --
this morning, they look like fancy wings like on cars from the fifties.
against a cumulous parade of fluffy angels and elephants...
The sun adds more dappling to the deep-down fresh exhibits...
Where is the tension between the opposites?
Where is the warring or competition?
I only sense a merging into the whole...
a submitting from, to, and in all things...
yet without any loss of who or what each particle wants or
needs to be.
Surrounding all is a fierce mercy and tender unmovable force...
Come with me and see the secret, wild gardens giving out their gems,
Every wonder-er, sick of "civility",
Come here...
(I wrote this last spring and rewrote it with deep gratitude and affection just now for my husband of 41 springs -- who also loves forest places.)
the magical glory of contrasts
until this particular morning
deep inside new mountain spring
where wildwood forest gardens
await the few who venture in...
Everywhere you look you find
all manner of colors, textures, shapes
tirelessly unfolding, whirling, imploding
world within worlds.
I never noticed before
by what steady grace
the ageless y chromozone trees
stand so rooted, so content and giving...
how those guys appear without the need to prove themselves
to all the the soft and curvy hangers on -- nor do they
pose for the oogling male upstarts --
who are leaning from their newer places.
Tufts of silk grass circle and soften those thick old trunks.
Tri-colored ivy dance lines cup dew and last night's rain --
mirroring sunrise while they wind and hug those muscular limbs.
Tall and tiny truths line the rocky paths.
Find the starkest or quietest or most intricate of beauty
around every boulder or corner.
Just look, breathe, listen anywhere in such an intoxicating place
where undulating patterns keep repeating yet with endless variations.
Silvery birch and beach branches lift their princess like arms and sway
against a strong burst of wind. Instantly, invisible curtains open --
the sky embraces a full sunrise -- rare in these woods --
paint-brushings of deep ripe mango spread out against
purplish blue wisps and disappear -- the sun rises.
If you were here, like me, you might silent your soul
in awe of childhood memories...
little bells are quietly ringing from their mini-orchards.
Like me, you might begin to sing along...
"White coral belles upon a slender stalk,
lilies of the valley by the garden walk,"
Turning around to walk back,
you might feel yourself melting into the flat long clouds overhead --
this morning, they look like fancy wings like on cars from the fifties.
against a cumulous parade of fluffy angels and elephants...
The sun adds more dappling to the deep-down fresh exhibits...
Where is the tension between the opposites?
Where is the warring or competition?
I only sense a merging into the whole...
a submitting from, to, and in all things...
yet without any loss of who or what each particle wants or
needs to be.
Surrounding all is a fierce mercy and tender unmovable force...
Come with me and see the secret, wild gardens giving out their gems,
Every wonder-er, sick of "civility",
Come here...
(I wrote this last spring and rewrote it with deep gratitude and affection just now for my husband of 41 springs -- who also loves forest places.)
