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   It is not so much for its beauty that the forest makes a claim upon men's hearts, as for that subtle something, 
                              that quality of air that emanation from old trees, that so 
          wonderfully changes and renews a weary spirit. 
                                                                     - Robert Louis Stevenson



shafts of gentle seek my thoughts,
	blessings, trembling, reflecting
  songs bleeding through the eventual afternoon,
while softly shimmering, 
	on the knees of a breath,
  		like silence, solitude, gasping
  kneeling, with reverence
	kindling a joy, 
		broken by the wind,
			who lingers on the shadows,
    veiled by the mist in the clear skies,
	words hesitating, a prayer,

faded into the mysteries of knowing,
	where magnificent stars burn, purposefully,
		growing stories, tales of burning
 intimacies, seeking kindness,
	  soothing gracefully, like a joy
		who brings its mossy rocks,
     on bold expressions, hesitating
			words like hope, dancing, swirling
				tears, blessings rising
on the seas of autumn’s grace – stirring rivers, melting
into the nights, moon in silent glimmers of knowing,
	where truth glistens, like a soul
		wise and warm, 

wistful, dew mirroring the sun, the moon, 
	starlight in June, destiny
		on the edge of quiet trail, rocky
  risking the thirsty darkness,
	poured out on the edges of time,
		waiting, waiting for the perfect moment
  to silence the lavender silhouettes
	who laugh with the bird, crooning, echoing
    flowing with the river’s weeping lyrics,
jubilant, but still as Sunday morning
                  a whisper of sunrise, seducing the dark
                               while winsome words, poetry smiles
         through the doubting, the night, grasping
fleeting verses, rhythms of light
   rising across the ridges, revealing
             what it means to breath in the peace,
                  wistful moments, heady and gentle as grace,

promises from the forest, the pines
            the light who abides, sacrificing leaves,
				on September memories,
    bold and brilliant, blazing
 	through the sentimental, 
		sensing all the serenity, souls
                                                                   eternal,
glorious gifts from God, who survives
amid the quivering kindness’
	of a moss covered thought,
	  epiphany stolen by the trees, the seeds
who never complain, because they agree
	we all need to become, more like the Son
		whose light echoes across our lives,
	outlasting the night, 
amazing – in silence, she abides
playing quietly on the edges of a creek, gurgling
                 happily, the song of a life
			who feels more alive
when the trees surround the silence,
	when the wind announces its song,
       with the music of faith that grows strong
amid the beauty of a forest, overgrown with hope.
	wild and unkempt, but lush with acceptance,
		alive with mercy and grace,
love in this place, 
       far away from the crowded streets of a past,
		confusion, the distant mess
                          before His light seeped through the cracks.
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