At Home In The Forest

The forest opens wide its welcome
to us, as towering pines, oaks and
hemlock release their green
exhalation and the wind bends
curtsying saplings at our presence.
From its observer's perch, a
Northern Thrush raises its peerless
voice to ring through the cloistered
air, thrilling us with the purity
of sound. The brook rushing down
from the mountain raising the 
drama of water unleashed from
tameness, hurls in its downward
spiral over boulders littering its bed,
fallen from the mountainside aeons
ago. Yellow Swallowtails wing into
and without the understory of
dogwood and maple, silently
drifting on the wind, their colour
mirroring the brilliance of the sun
filtering through boughs and needles
to illuminate bracken and micro-ponds
littering the forest floor, catching
shades of white petals ornamenting
wild strawberry, bunchberry,
raspberry and the pink of the queen
of forest flora, Ladies Slippers with
their sumptuous hanging lanterns 
among the straw lilies and lilies of
the valley, snuggling about soil 
mounded beside yellow birch and 
beech. We are cooled by the wind,
our feet coddled by the soft cushion
of generations of desiccated leaves
and needles; the fragrance of the
forest surrounding us with the green
fresh wholesomeness of nature
restoring to us a state of contentment.