The Sacred Arboretum
An Ode to the shades of a Virginia Forest
Sweet woodruff carpets the entryway as the spattering of trunks open into sacred space. The woodland clearing is tinted green from the sun waves piercing the canopy.
Shaded and deep, Mother steps into her temple, feet pressing into her reflection as the bobolinks and rusty cardinals chirp her hymns. I'd pull at her everso gently, never stripping the roots as I directed her through the castle she had already known.
Displaced cousins, the oriental bittersweet ornaments and arches, latticing and climbing the steeples. Tough brown reaching into my veins and tethering me down. Held so the sparks of my mind could keep flying up and out igniting the epistles. A blank page suddenly rich with tones, the inspiration that settles while walking.
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