
the glint in the eye
makes it look round and lustrous,
though it’s a moth wing

the glint in the eye
makes it look round and lustrous,
though it’s a moth wing

a murder of crows
congregates on the concrete,
and I feel angst.
sure, I’m smarter than a crow…
but smarter than the murder?
The columns of the forest lift the vaulted canopy. I walk down below on the trail that parts understory. Each step through the loam brings me home to barefoot days of yore. When I thought nothing of placing skin to the forest floor -- while letting the woods become me as I grew into it; I would yield my identity. To nature, I'd submit. And in a walk, I did become everything and nothing, falling into a peace at once humbling and stunning.