i am sick

at home sick for many days
i become more aware of how
often fear arises in my body

i remember with happiness
my days in the woods
and find joy in the anticipation
of returning

evening

little folded squares of white tissue
glowing against the dirt beside a log
along the path in among the trees

tear flowers

someone else was crying in the woods
today

anxiety

one cannot hold or catch the sudden and violent wind
rolling in before the storm

not your hands, not my hands

sadness

rain all night
i will still adventure today
solitary

not sure

alone
i return to these woods
where trees reach high, high
above my head
and the earth is a bed of
leaves, living and dead

seated on a felled tree
i write a little
read a little
listen to the highway in the distance

these trees are not illusionary
nor is this stillness of heart
but i begin to think that i dream
even when i believe i am awake

a still night now
the cat's ears lift to catch night sounds
deep between the waking state, deep between the dream
i toss gently

the party

sometimes it is better
to laugh than to be silent

somehow the mind rests
in laughter as in silence

forming new pathways
renewing happiness

the halls

choosing a spot where the path divides
in the thick spring wood
i sit on a stump, legs crossed
and watch dog walkers come and go
emerging and disappearing in these
hidden green halls

hearing their voices before i see them
they come from the dense green leaf light
make comment
their dogs sniff me
and then they pass away into the woods

a blue jay flutters through the leaves
rare, unexpected and marvelous

there is sometimes a precious being
arising unexpectedly
where the path divides