communing with the trees

Here there is no history of mine.
I relinquish all that I was and let it drift away on the waters of this river.
There is history in all that surrounds me I guess. But I prefer the present.
Moments triumphed by nature.
A swift breeze, the sound of water over rock,
lazy locusts and croaking frogs.
If I listen close, I can hear the trees whispering.
They tell me to leave my hurried life and live among them.
It’s hard not to find solace in their gentle persuasions.
The bird song scolds me for reflecting on my city life…
for allowing it to crowd my mind.
Cities do not give humans room to move freely
anymore than thoughts of cities give the mind room to think freely.
Instead I want space and room to penetrate this place with my body,
to dip my hands deep within this earth
and play among the roots.
I want to slip over the trees skin for skin
And, lastly, I want to melt into the water and drift away from myself.

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