There is a silvery shape on the forest floor

A silhouette?  A shadow?

A tiny stream of consciousness

Trickling over calamity and joy.

Smooth stones of worry roll and tumble

Under a flickering thumbnail moon

Turning upended tree stumps

Into imaginary monsters with their

Arthritic roots reaching out to embrace and terrify.

Silence amplifies the scurry of squirrels

Scavenging for buried treasure – a delicate balance

Of instinct and grace interrupting

Earth’s sweet aroma

Curling the senses with lofty puffs of wood smoke

Burning memories into deep ravines

Threading an essentially thin lifeline

Through the mind, a silhouette,

The body, a shadow,

And the soul, a tiny stream of consciousness -

A trinity arranged into a silvery shape

on the forest floor.