A Glimpse of the Ages
A cool breeze
like the slightest graze
of the recently passed
flows under the shaded thickness
of the ancient woods.
The worn paths,
sunken below
the forest floor
like water forgotten stream beds,
slide naturally
through this wooded sanctuary.
Broken decaying trees
rest upon the strong backs
of the sun reaching ones,
spreading their
immense girth of leaves
allowing the barest of rods of sunlight
to illumin the undercarriage
of this dense growth.
Stillness presses on me,
making me one
and alone
with this placid place.
Ambering down the trail,
knowing what every
touch of movement
and nuance of the environment means.
In the distance
all I see is trunks,
like a never-ending
collection of mirrors
imposing their presence
upon each other
barely acknowledging my passing.
Copyright © Mark Matthews | Year Posted 2008
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