Begin only to have been here
Many times before
Seductive nature, swollen bosom
Swirling limbs guide
Darkened paths, smooth mushroom top
Fuzzy moss
A revealing trail turn to
Illumination from above
The subtle spring sun dimmed by enlightened clouds
Dripping brooks, leaking
Through foliage
Never again to be known by bears
So many things never to know
See, touch, taste, feel, smell, breath, sure
But I cannot know them
Browning green, a nurse log in hiding
Surrendering stability
To earthy wholeness around it
At this point,
It’s not about me. I am a
Windy breeze through which the forest speaks
Adam F.C. Fletcher 