We retreat to the woods to find serenity
I wonder sometimes how the woods see us
Perhaps we are like visitors who have come on a bad day
When its inhabitants all have too much to do
Birds packing up to migrate to elsewhere;
Leaves falling down to make blankets for those beneath;
Caterpillars feeding fast before they hibernate;
Squirrels rushing home before it gets dark;
And we sitting there amidst the red gold and green;
Unaware of how hectic this ‘still’ place can be.
The guardians of time choose places to stand
Where the insignificant can find them when they’ve run out of wisdom
They dig their roots deep into the earth we can’t see
And let the wind caress them as though they were frail
In helplessness I watch the wind have its way with them
They shed their autumn leaves without holding back
How can they not keep a single leaf?
For the memory of summer or in hope for the spring
What did the wind promise that they believe in so much?
What are their roots hiding that they look so unmoved?
Let me sit here a little longer and perhaps I can learn
The ancient law of life, from the guardians of time.
Portraits in Letter 