My Sanctuary

I am in a sanctuary where people do unspeakable things. Things they would never do with people watching. Things they would not want mothers to know about. There are lots of shadows; the floor feels wet and cushiony. I hear the screech of an eagle, spotting prey. Turn my head to see it swoop down 150 feet from me. Another screech, then silence. Twigs snap as I gingerly look for snakes. Cobwebs get tangled in my hair; It has been awhile since a person was here. I stop at a creek, and look at the pebbles. Wondering if they have ever been touched. I pick through them, select three, pocket them. Wild violets are next to the sandy riverbank; Unseen, unappreciated. I trip over tree roots as I walk to a fallen tree, climb up, and sit. The unparalleled silence calls for reverence. I lie on the log and poke the forest floor With a stick, finding mushrooms and moss. I like the feeling Of the sun on my back in this tiny Break in the forest. I hear a rustling noise, Turn, A deer has been startled. I get a glimpse of her white tail. It is a sanctuary here; my church.