Oct 182003
There is a wilderness underfoot
and I hear the branches crunching...
Somewhere, the deer are watching me,
in soft, silent contemplation.
There is a shore nearby;
the hush of waves draws closer.
It leaves me wondering only:
when will my pilgrimage end?
Along the way, in this exile,
sunlight survives through the branches
In muted forms that cast a glow upon the trees.
And the mosses, they point me north.
Here and there there are clearings;
and once even I found my way to a spring.
They tell me a City lies beyond,
just at the edge of the blue and the green,
on fine sands where forest leads to ocean.
I trek on, ever watchful.
It could be I am just around the bend.