Venture through the verdant vale,
Wander through quiet wonders.
Overgrown ruins of emerald temples
Emerge from the misty distance.
Pass between the living pillars
Encrusted with dewy jewels,
Delicate vine tapestries,
And lacy lichen embellishments.
Sunlight filters through the canopy
As through stained glass windows.
Smells of fungus, fir, pine, and cedar
Fill the air like pungent incense.
Gentle bears and cunning foxes
Are aware of all who enter here,
Their comings and goings across
Carpets of woven roots and moss.
A crystal creek pours over smooth stones
Like an ancient route of pilgrimage
Where the prayers still echo in the air.
From a refuge in the high shadows
A Raven’s call rings out
Like a broken church bell.
Round altars root into the ground,
Exposed rings reveal the great age
Of the mighty who were felled here,
In the primordial world, by mere men,
Ignorant of whom they stood before.
Take a seat upon the stump,
Rest your weary bones here.
Lay your body on the altar
Of the great decaying God.
Feel the pulse of each breath
Blessing your body with life.
Breathe in the mist of the trees.
Taste the drink of the stream.
You will go on from here.
You will walk the round years
Before you, too, fall,
And the roots reclaim what’s theirs.
