Walking over bright green knoll knotted yellow with dandelions

Then down the other side,

Therein lies a dark and narrow passage through a stand of weeping oaks,

One I have seen but never tried

A light breeze blows, graceful boughs bow

Beckoning me to go where I have never been,

Shadows deepen, move beyond line of sight

As I breach the brink of light and dark and go within;

Cool leafy whisperings enfold and embolden me to go on

Down primordial path carpeted, spongy moss upon rich loam;

Fragile ferns rise unfurling, fronds uncurling,

Crystal breeze sends white-plumed seedlings swirling up, up, into an emerald dome

And down through mottled shards of light in turn, echoes

Call of a mockingbird unseen, still easily heard;

Singing sonnets from another time, an age of grace,

Things no one here dares hope retrace or e'er replace through thought or word

A bend in path, another still, I come upon a lovely rill

Water cold and clear spills over rounded stones

The blood and bones of Mother Earth—her worth, her dearth,

Amid effervescence, a sobering quiescence—both plaintive intones

To those who will hear her

From somewhere below a semi growls low, grinding, climbing, winding its way up from the city Not so far away;

Stirs a dragonfly (symbol of long life, I muse—but exactly whose?) from its post upon a reed and it Hovers nearby as if to say,

“I’ll lead if only you will follow,”

Then quick as a flash vanishes away deep into the hollow

Overhead, a rumble—soon winds come making dry leaves tumble, and then a light, warm rain;

It is only now I find release from pain, soul-healing peace, and yet I’m aimless like a lost lamb:

Shall I go, shall I remain? My heart is torn—I’m city born, I don’t belong, I’m not from here.

But everything tells me I am.