Tuesday, December 1, 2009


Walking through
The forest
Sunday afternoon
In moist and quiet air
After the storm

A beaver pond
Leans heavily
Against its stick dam
Half broken
By heavy rains

Broad old trees
Here and there
Some toppled
Some Shattered
By strong winds

A stone path
Leads us
Through trees
Past the pond
To a church
Near the forest

Its rounded roof
With singing voices
At its walls
Through its roof

A muffled chorus rises
Aimless at the heavens
Hardly penetrating
The forest where we stand
Silent among sword ferns
Welcomed by strong trunks
Of tall and ancient trees

This place among the trees
Is more a cathedral
Than it ever was before
Even when the church
Sat silent - parked
In its own empty lot

Pleased by wind and rain
The tops of living trees
Standing tall above
The rounded roof
Their gentle joyful song
Whispered unending
From high above us
Drifting down
Like autumn mist
Our gratitude rising
Like winter steam

Sweet blessings
Showered from trees
Bathed in love
Even in that moment
Beyond the storm
That took old friends
And changed their world forever
Forgiveness woven
Into their song

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