When you are in the high country, you look out upon the forest and see those countless green miles spread out before you. And, yet, once among those many trees, there is no looking out. There is no seeing beyond that green veil. You are concealed and hidden from the world. For humans there is an instinct still desiring the security provided in those mossy isles of fir and cedar.
--
To where shall
I amble through forest?
Shall I Levitate
Over canopy
Or sink into fecund mud?
Shall I plainly stab forwardly
Through brambles
Mossy isles
And lose my way
Hopelessly
To nowhere
Glaciers of Washington State
5 years ago
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