I miss the trees.
I miss the rough bark,
The woodsy roughness.
I miss every one of the thousand shades of green that danced for me every afternoon.
I miss the call of the wild, the tease of the forest to leave the path,
To climb over the railing and relish my solitary descent into the valley
To explore the primal riverbed while God exposed my inner one.
I miss the musky moss,
the pungent aroma of warmth, of cool, of growth.
I miss the silence, the sacred hush that wooed me into a reflective posture without words.
I miss the creeping vines, the sparkling stream, the prehistoric aura
that transported me back in time and reminded me
That long after I am gone majestic sentinels will stand guard
Peering down on generations of pilgrims looking up in awe
Fumbling for words as I am.
