Sunday, August 3, 2014

The journey

In the place where the temperature falls
when I step out of the sun
into the dark cyan
shade of the forrest,
when I listen to my shoes crunch flotsam, 
the panting of my lab, the squeaks of flying beings 
high in the crowns,
where trees old and young 
lay across the stream, 
the young ones dying on the backs of their elders
and stumps mourn in gowns of lime green moss
and all around lay fallen leaves in yellow,
burnt umber and brick, and changing colors still,
where even in that state of doom, beauty 
does not abandon them.
This is where I take my grief, 
which is the price of love,
and where in mercy I rest
and let go of fear 
and love the world.

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