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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2141351
by Tinker
Rated: E · Poetry · Spiritual · #2141351
My voice, my world..
Ancient and Alive

Trees old enough
to remember hearing
the footsteps of God
rise into clouds
collecting rain
to quench their thirst.

Massive branches
hang down
and out with tips up,
like an eagle
stretching to snatch the wind.

The sun filters
through mute-green needles
stitching lacy patterns
on the forest floor.

Blood brown trunks, nourished
by the bones
of the Pomo people
carry the scars of epochs.
They tower above the shaded ferns
while roots spread deep and broad,
anchored to the damp earth.

At the foot of a giant,
a broken twig lies in the scent
of mud, musk and decay,
a reminder of my mortality.

Here in the mist from the near-by Pacific
nature's cathedral is my sanctuary.
                    ---Judi Van Gorder

Notes:

Merit Badge in Shadows and Light
[Click For More Info]

Dear Tink,

Congratulations for winning 2nd Place in  [Link To Item #shadows]  with  [Link To Item #2155899] .

Rachel
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2141351