The Wisdom of the Wild Woods

One lovely afternoon

I sit on my back porch,

facing the wild woods where

thin

narrow

trees

stand

tall, and

broken, ragged-edged

                                  trunks rest their

sorrow

on the cold, dark earth.

I have no particular thought,

no prayer,

no agenda.

I sit, when an unexpected grief visits me, and

thoughts and memories turn to Mom,

gone too many years now.

 

I sense a longing

to talk again with her, to say,

“How are you, Mom?”

but only the silent echo

of a tear answers me.

I guess the wild woods knows better than me

how much I still miss her.

 

Backyard Woods
Backyard Woods. Photo by J. Stanton. 2015

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