Sunday, July 26, 2009


You love the roses - so do I. I wish
The sky would rain down roses, as they rain
From off the shaken bush. Why will it not?
Then all the valley would be pink and white
And soft to tread on. They would fall as light
As feathers, smelling sweet; and it would be
Like sleeping and like waking, all at once!

George Eliot 1819-1880

Stand still. The trees ahead and
bushes beside you Are not lost.
Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a
powerful stranger,
Must ask permission
to know it and
be known. The forest breathes. Listen. It
I have made this place around you,

If you leave it you may come back
again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to
No two branches are the same to
If what a tree or a bush does is
lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The
forest knows
Where you are.
You must let it find

David Wagoner