The hidden life in me
listens for the voices of the trees.
They are singing, somewhere deep beneath
the silver skin of old beech trees
sounding roots that hold
the forest floor together,
pulsing upward, lifeblood
from root through towering trunk and up
to overarching crown.
A song is rising, and sometimes
walking, as today, at winter’s end
watching for the signs, I feel
suddenly, earth’s breathing pulse:
Viriditas: It sings in me.
Photo by CHUTTERSNAP on Unsplash
So admire and appreciate your poems!
Our family to this day calls a vacuum a Hoover. Your transformational poems connect and I am ever so grateful.
Speaking of Paraclete, I recommend the wonderful writing of Gayle Boss.