Into the Woods

I went walking into the woods, 
along dirt paths, 
under tall and growing trees, 
wildflowers growing close to the ground, 
by puddles that reflected sunny skies, 
slowly growing cloudy, 
sweating in the summer sun. 

I want to go into the woods after the summer storm, 
with trees dripping drops of rain on the blowing wind, 
while birds sit in the sun drying their feathers, 
waiting to fly again. 

I want to go into the woods at the emergence of autumn, 
when the sun's angles begin to change and the days get shorter, 
as painted leaves cover the ground like a quilt, 
laid to keep the ground warm in the coming winter. 

I want to go into the woods in winter, 
when the trees are bare and the sky along the horizon is cold, 
while the setting sun turns the sky to the darkest black, 
the cold of space, 
coming down and settling in along the trails. 

In each and every time and place and season of the earth, 
revolving around and around, 
there remains to be seen only what is missed in the places where we stop to look. 

Familiar places change, 
to be noticed over time, 
when old becomes new and new becomes old, 
changing course and remembering the people that we miss, 
we wonder how they have grown and changed and pray to God that we will see them again soon and that  we pass through their thoughts the way they pass through ours. 

T.S. Deary 
P.A.F.M. 
6/29 - 8/9/24