Thank you, trees.

Thank you, trees.
In your reaching for the river and the southern sun,
you are sheltering me.
Thank you, Cottonwood leaves,
for falling to the ground, making hardly a sound
marking a trail for me.
OK, of course, not for me, specifically,
But for me, the WE……
And the wee.
Well, anyway,
Thank you.
 
~ Being Present
Standing inside a loose copse of seven trees
My back cozied up to one trunk
Each hand touching another…
I stop my internal dialogue.
I hear....birds call in several languages.
I smell….damp leaves and a cool westerly breeze.
I taste....the sea in there, somewhere.
I’d recognize it anywhere!
I touch...the aged, grey bark
Rough, gnarly, pocked...like me.
I feel....the trunks sway in harmony.
Thank you, trees.
 
~ The Return
There are places that call us back
Time and time again.
They offer us respite;
They comfort our soul...
Vulcan, the river, the trees.