Navarro Forest
The
light glows through the canopy of Redwoods.
The
light moves, shifts shadows on ferns, on us.
We
walk through them to the picnic table.
The
small clearing is empty.
The
weathered table speaks in cracked initials
Whose
life was D.K.'s or J.W.'s? Why did R.M. love C.L.?
Carvings
are meetings, and we have arrived too late.
The
ciphers stay locked in their own opaque stories.
They
suggest. They tease. We imagine.
We
hear the invisible river distant, soft in the huge trees.
It
flows to the coast. It flows like time.
Time
weathers wood. It weathers stories. It always has.
We
will miss them when we’ve left. The carvings whisper
on
the tissue of the wood. In our summer sandals we are happy,
for
a time, under the canopy’s mid-day light.
Greg
Gregory is retired, but worked in educational media for over 30 years.
His first love has always been language and the printed word. He has been
published in the US, Canada, and England in publications including California
Quarterly, Windsor Review, Poetry Nottingham, and The
Aurorean.
I really enjoyed this peide Greg, have been to places just like that, thanks for sharing.
ReplyDeleteSo descriptive, so picturesque, so delightful. What a lovely write, Greg. I really enjoyed it. Thank you for sharing, and if you are new to Whispers, welcome. Continued blessings!
ReplyDelete-MJ (www.tgbtgpublictions.com)