The Walking House

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.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s