The woods were near to my brother’s home,
And I often walked down the dirt path,
To find solace in my apathy.
The woods were dressed in pine and conifer,
Stones and fir and bristle and mud on the floor,
Rife with animals, bugs, and other voices never seen.
The hallowed and unhallowed spirits of Gaea.
A stream was followed on by stones,
Which I typically traversed through the brush.
and the trail was sometimes trodden in summer.
But not always.
In the stream,
The trickle of water ran in rivlets off tiny waterfalls,
While the rustling of dead leaves or the choir drone of bees
Heaved the woods in movement and sound.
The squirrels chittered endlessly.
The birds chirped sonorously.
The wind never flagged.
Often the animals were preoccupied.
I never hassled them in their labors.
The closest I came to divine touch,
When sunlight struck my eyes.
At the highest point of the woods, and shined.
It went away as all divinity, quickly and with piety.
A deer once came onto the trail, when I was twenty,
and not five feet away, huge and commanding.
He was unafraid and I was scared.
While horrible fear came over me.
The deer did not run away,
but turned in recognition.
As I had been on the path all summer,
but even though nature will not take you in
it will often recognize your spirit
if you are only passing through.
