The trees whisper to me,
as we walk passed ‘em.
We hike along the tree line
your hand intermingles with mine, We kiss.
“Come on,” I motion you to the woods.
“This is my walking house.
It’s a sacred place.
a place of memories,
of love, hope and of faith.”
I introduce you to each tree.
as we stroll down the path
under the canopy of leaves.
I need the trees,
these proud silent majestic beasts,
hanging over my soul.
As I lie under their branches,
scribbling in my notebook,
they acquaint me with the life
which passes beneath.
Smyon-Pa 