Autumn Aspens

The breeze whispers,  

"Come on, I have a secret  

For you, Little Brother." 

I hike over a ridge. 

"Aye que Bonita!" 

The aspens wave their little hands.  

I hike into an aspen grove. 

They click their tongues  

And giggle when I enter.  

"He sees us," an aspen says.  

"He knows," says another.  

"Be with us," they say in unison. 

"Breathe in our charm, 

Relish in our beauty. 

Acknowledge your own." 

I stand in the grove. 

Happy. All smiles.  

They click their yellow tongues, 

"He hears us.  

He is turning yellow, too." 

I bow in gratitude. 

I walk out of the grove  

Glowing yellow.  

I am happy.

Walking In the Forest Darkness

I have walked in the forest darkness

That stole every nuance of light,

And inhaled all evidence of shadow.

My hand outstretched,

Waiting for something,

Anything that might

Crash, cut, or bruise my body.

My feet stepped on dirt, and rocks, and leaves

With caution as they sent ripples

Of blind butterflies banging

And clanging the interior

Of my gut.

How could a forest eat all the light?

How could a forest collaborate

With the clouds to steal even the tiniest

Wisp of starlight from the sky?

My ears opened their eyes

But they were so small

And so unused to being used

For seeing

That they were almost,

Not completely, just almost

Useless as I

Walked in the forest darkness

Near Speck Pond, Massachusetts in 1974.