There is a beauty to these woods

that surpasses even the twilight

sound of the Great Horned Owl

or the crescent moon spilling stars

onto cedar tops and pines.

These woods grow inside me

with the long call of possibility.

Nature seems unhurried

as water and wind form the habits

of countless species, and me.

Even as I stand able to dream

within the forest’s seasons;

my own life will measure

only a few dense rings hidden

deep inside mighty oaks.

However long my days,

I cannot forget these woods.

Near or far they enliven

my wondering and hoping

and choosing.

From the collection Ice Break by Samuel Rahberg