Archive
03/22/10
Wind
Last Wednesday, I hiked a two-and-a-quarter-hour infinity, Over cushiony, decaying pine needles and leaves Comprising the Stony Hill Nature Trail's sodden acreage, Where, seventy-five years ago, Wisconsin constructed a fire tower, to protect those woods.
Alone in that pristine sanctuary, On that glorious afternoon, which guided my vital shadow, Traipsing over paths jubilating with chickadee songs, I had a rare chance to listen to the forest's breathing — Reverberating gusts of hilltop-high and -tall wind
Winnowing through the green-crowned tops of trees (Red, white, and jack pines, aspens, birches, balsam firs, Many with virid needles, as many with leafless twigs), Performing scherzos, rhapsodies, entire symphonies, Reciting, to me, sibilant lullabies, elegies, dream sequences.
That climb I made up and down Stony Hill's winding trail Changed my mind, my entire life, my destiny, Changed the nature of nature itself, Changed the way I see the sound and shape the wind takes Whenever it beckons my soul to translate God's voice.
03/22/10
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