The Green

Walking down a path, wrought with stone and sand,

I can feel the dirt shift beneath my feet and I revel in the response of the land to my stride.

The air holds the sweetness of honeysuckle long past its bloom and I fill my lungs with its healing warmth.

I try to tread softly and not allow my presence to interrupt the ebb and flow that is life; that is the green.

As I journey further the trees and brush grow dense and soon I am surrounded by all that is truly inspiring to my spirit.

I can hear the squirrels chattering to each other, and the birds calling out to one another with their humble songs;

They speak the language of the wood.

I lie down on the grass and feel its soft strength on my skin,

Feel the harsh caress of leaves fallen long ago yet refusing to dissipate from the bed of the forest.

Would that I were a leaf, drifting along the winds of the green.

The winds, they rustle the tops of the trees sounding

Almost like waves crashing against the shore and their echoes make my heart ache with longing for the sight of a clean, turquoise coastline.

As I lie there in the woods my mind is freed, my essence is released, I am whole.

The sunshine comes down to me through cracks in the wild roof of clouds and gnarled branches and it rests its fingertips on my forehead in blessing.

In this moment I am one with the wood, I am one with the green, and I am inspiration personified.

© 2013 Liz Arnold

The Big Windows Review 4 (Spring/Summer 2013)