He steps into these woods at dusk,
And hears crunch of boot sole upon frozen trail,
And listens to the building chorus
Of northeast winds sweeping tree tops,
And sees the nakedness of bare winter woods
Against a backdrop of deepening gray moving skies,
And breathes the chilled air…
An aroma therapy of Natural woodsiness…
And embraces the only-ness… the oneness.
Splotches of lichen encrusted upon aged stone;
Moss most green amongst only grays and browns;
Pale russet layers of last year's deciduous leaves;
Pond ice soft, dirty, undecided from the last thaw.
This debate within himself… with the Universe…
How much is enough… for how long… where…
The patience to reflect… strength to deflect…
The wisdom to redirect.
An eternal mystery blows through his ears…
Except for his clothes, this could be 900 years ago.
Only two thousand steps into this woodland trance;
Enough to alter state of mind,
Reawaken a sleeping Spirit;
Enough to replenish the canteen of a Soul.
Occasional snap of untangling trees on high,
Each dancing, swaying in its own rhythm…
Feeling the music… adding to the music.
These moments before the heralded storm,
As first flakes of an evening snow fall…
The vision of a forest carpet of the purest white,
Which on the morrow will cover it all.
January 29,2018 - Foxboro State Forest, MA
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem