Why I Go to the Woods

1.

When the trail levels, my uphill panting calms

so I can hear again the drips of

leftover rain on leaves, light and soft

and sweetened with sunlight, 

like the language of birds. 

And what are the birds saying now?

Do they notice me? Are they asking 

questions, making plans? They too

have been waiting for the forest

to be slick with spring; they too

have been praising 

the persistent promise 

of the earth, yet they 

never once doubted,

never once despaired.

2. 

It’s not that problems disappear, 

but in between trees 

there’s space to breathe. The leaves 

are gentle. The sounds 

are soft. Somewhere a deer 

walks. Somewhere a squirrel 

hides its food. Somewhere 

an owl sleeps, worrying 

about nothing. 

3. 

And don’t I wish 

I could be 

like the trees?  

Tall, steadfast, 

rooted. Thankful

for both sun and rain, 

their arms always open 

to the sky.