Under the Light of Trees
by Melody Sokolow
under the light of trees, it feels as if the world might have been
born here. their twisted branches, threaded together, open, little by
little, with the wind, leaving just enough room for the next new thing
to emerge from this place of peace. i sit under this delicious canopy
of leaves, fragrant and glistening in the center of the earth. my senses
jangle like jewelry and i feel rapturous music, just waiting to be born.
voices, in great choral anticipation, seem to arise organically, from the ground,
hoping to sing like angels. my hands, are touched by the white of lilies
and freed of constriction. i can move easily through time here, as effortlessly
as the crane soars with the updraft. my awareness aligns with the sparkle and
gleam of emeralds, lying in the glint of the sun, wedged into the black of earth
and shimmering at my feet. is this the beginning of life or the other side of it?
does it even matter anymore?
under the light of trees, it feels as if the world might have been
born here. their twisted branches, threaded together, open, little by
little, with the wind, leaving just enough room for the next new thing
to emerge from this place of peace. i sit under this delicious canopy
of leaves, fragrant and glistening in the center of the earth. my senses
jangle like jewelry and i feel rapturous music, just waiting to be born.
voices, in great choral anticipation, seem to arise organically, from the ground,
hoping to sing like angels. my hands, are touched by the white of lilies
and freed of constriction. i can move easily through time here, as effortlessly
as the crane soars with the updraft. my awareness aligns with the sparkle and
gleam of emeralds, lying in the glint of the sun, wedged into the black of earth
and shimmering at my feet. is this the beginning of life or the other side of it?
does it even matter anymore?