It’s as right as moonlight dancing off of a calm lake after a gentle summer rain that scattered the week’s debris, and left distant fond memories for the deer and I to see….
Gently, we wonder across the water at each other, about our ancestors, and their predecessors, and the magic that was uncovered.
I go to forget the noise and why I remained poised in a transitory, man-made, concrete world, sifting through illusion, lost in confusion.
Closing my eyes behind the tree, on all fours, I hear the calls of wolves and smell dens where hens lay stored for later, when my pups wake up in a ravenous rage and need to meet the day and escape decay.
My hair is locked into the ground and surrounds my feet as they wish to run with the wild coyotes on a hunt for that one rabbit that got away to make it without slay.
My heart reaches for the stars that shed light on the scars that were left like tar on my soul from repeated mistakes of going for the gold; but the untold story was that if I went within, I would begin to get thin and those layers would disintegrate into nothing once I walked away from false displays, that were present on the other side of Looking Glass Lake.
My soul is rooted in the trees; they speak to me when life gets bleak and forces conjure the mean streak in humanity.
I ask the trees to see me and all the love that is who I am, to send a cardinal or fox sign like a telegram from the great creator, instead of uncle Sam.
They answer with surprises like an eagle or a geyser, when I asked only for a small hint, I receive a glimpse of the enormity of the great-spirit.
This is why I go.
Because the trees know how to talk to my soul.