where the bud of the greenest leaf
and the heart of the bluest sky
stretching to beds of fern and needle,
two wanderers–nomads–arrive with
the turning of the winter tide.They speak freely here. The wind, a silent witness;
words, unencumbered by the lives
they leave behind.
They think freely here. Thoughts
take root in the fertile soil and grow tall
into imagined futures.
And here they freely love.
Amidst the creaking of the forest,
under the shadow of fallen giants,
beneath the bower’d arms of rainswept pines,
their bodies move with the suredness of mountains
but their eyes are watching God.