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.