By Khabira Candace Holt
My feet tread a carpet of moss amid
varied shades of green pulling my eyes
from lichen to fern, to towering tree tops
My body inhales healing aromas from
spruce, cedar, trillium, fungi, dead wood
The Forest's vibrations encircle me, a captive
of their medicine; I am the Forest holding me
My arms wrap around the solid fir
She soothes me as a mother with her child,
I am in rhythm with a drumbeat
felt, not heard
Gentle breezes glide through branches,
I sit on a rock that holds stories of centuries
I am the book absorbing their stories
Thrushes sing on—pouring Life's beauty
into my heart; Raven's wings thump as kaw-kaw
booms out. I inhale the Forest, exhale imitation
of Raven's call, feeling my belonging
My eyes follow a shiny beetle, a circling bee,
I am the Forest singing this richness of creation,
asserting the vibrancy, Life-Death,
its ancient wisdom and medicine
I am the owl hooting, the pine cone dropping
I am the deer grazing, the squirrel running
up fir bark, as sunbeams slant
between limbs making shifting patterns
Gently held, my heart expands
Alive within miracles and mystery--
I am the Forest singing.