The mist, thick and white,
Pressed down upon
Our lives below
In this morning scene
Of proud oppression—
It was quiet.
Many had yet
To make the crossing
From within to without;
To bring forth
That new energy,
To start the day
Afresh and alive—
How quickly the violent
Winds of the night
Are forgotten
As the dew-filled air
Sits heavy and present
All around us,
Impeding our innocent
Existence—
Gazing at the scene
In a sleepy trance,
The motionless pine
Is there—
Standing tall,
Firmly anchored
In the motherly soil,
Its nonchalance,
knightly, nay stoic
In its unmoving response
To the fiercely quiet attack—
In its noble stance,
The expressionless tree
Reminds of strength,
Of an enduring wisdom,
And confident knowing.
Untouched by anger,
Dread or time,
The great plant stands,
Neither inside nor out,
But just stands
In silent order,
Nurtured by the watery air,
Living this day
Equally to the last
With its roaring winds
Of empty threats,
Tormented thoughts,
And exhaustive power—
It stands,
Alive and fresh,
Always new
And full of vigour,
Swaying or still,
Wet or dry,
Purifying the air
And supplying life
For us to breath,
So we can move
With strength in our hearts
From all the trees
Surrounding our day
From morning to night,
And night to morn,
Overseeing our thoughts
And inspiring our acts—
Leaving the home,
We step into eternity,
The endless dome
Beyond the mist,
Engaged with the trees
In timeless union,
In renewed recollection
Of the harmonious whole,
And the permeating Soul,
So great in wonder,
And unmoving in motion.
MS23
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| Mother Earth |
