The Forest

I went
to sleep as I always do,
with my head under the blankets,
tucked away from the outside world,
and suddenly I woke up in the middle
of the night.

I was
surrounded by an incredibly
beautiful forest, full of ancient white
pine trees with thick, forked trunks,
and mossy mounds of eternal decay
in flowering dew.

I went
down the muddy dingle stepping carefully
on the grassy parts around the interweaving
brooks and teasing springs, watching
as each step released a soft exhalation
from the ground.

Further down,
the trees and bramble conjured up a maze
of carefully weaved patterns around
the rocks and the long dead branches,
which beckoned me into a subtle tunnel
of hidden pleasures.

As I
approached the wildly splendid grove,
silent like a fawn in a daydream,
the forest's face revealed itself to me,
in a knowing smile of bright wisdom
and stubborn friendship.

I lay
still just feeling the green embrace
and gave thanks for all the years of patient
friendship and watchful solace,
for all the seasons and all the moods,
for everything

that we
had been able to cultivate in an endless dance
of invisible understanding and learning,
of purposeful looks and eager adventures,
of weightless diving and swimming
in our selves.