Back East, I’d walk in the woods.
There was no one nearby.
I’d speak one word,
Receive no response,
But nonetheless have companionship.
The forest knew and took care of me.
I think in sounds and geometric patterns
The forest knew and supplied them to me.
They were gentle and soft.
I’d step on a twig, sometimes deliberately,
And the snap would be a smile.
The twig forgave me and asked that I return.
In the snow there were animal tracks:
Rabbit. Deer. Moose. Bear.
When I’d see one in the flesh,
We’d pause and I’d crave acknowledgment.
The animal knew and gave that to me, silently,
And we’d move on.
When I needed excitement,
I’d sit by a stream and listen.
The water knew and entertained me.
I never needed long.
Now I’m gone, reluctantly urban.
The city doesn’t know me.
I’ll walk at night and get lost
On my own street.
When I walk in crowds
I’ve never felt more alone.
Someday I’ll go back to the woods
And it won’t begrudge my absence,
Long though that was.
It knows me and I’ll know it,
I’ll find a tall dark pine,
Rest my cheek against the trunk,
Feel the bark- rough, cool, loving-
And I’ll take a deep breath
About the Author:
I’m a 23-year-old living in Denver, working in publishing. I just like to write.