A wilderness of mirrors

Once I stumbled into a forest Where every surface shimmered like glass, Introducing me; a foreign tourist, To a world where every tree was endowed silver leaves. I peered anxiously into every leaf Hoping to see what every reflection thought of me; Whether the branches opened to my pleas, A nod of approval? Or a sway of animosity. Slowly I’ve come to see that they don’t matter -at least- They don’t lie or accuse or snark - they can’t even speak. They only reflect what is truly there, Raw, unfiltered and clean. Behind the silver mirrors, Spring has never felt so green.