EAST OF EDEN

Written by: Cyndi MacMillan

The cityscape flowed into a winding trail

that took me into the green heart of the park

and I shrugged off a mindset overly stale,

as light teased a creek that stowed waters dark.

Weak, I found a seat, low and ergonomic,

a stump that offered me one hundred rings,

so I sat and listened to sisters reed and willow

touched by the teachings their humility brings.

Others walked by, most plugged into iPods 

They never noticed the blue heron that stood

deep in holy shadows painted by our God

now cast aside for wireless serpents. Woods

shrink as new iDols sow unoriginal sins,

Technology’s church grows just east of Eden.