I have learned that one of
the best ways
to get to know and love the land
is to walk on the woods
on a winter day.
The trees bare spires,
the gray stones calm sentinels,
and among them
clarity descends
and you may find you
remember things
you used to know
and thought you’d lost.
Listen for secrets and whispers
from shadows and stone
in the austere
and stripped gray landscape
of a winter wood.
When you find a place
with only cold woodland
for company
whether you are sitting
in a nest of leaves,
on a gray stone,
or in your own yard,
you may find some of your
soul shards,
there among the fallen leaves
and witness
your own wholeness,
weaving with the world.
The winter woods
bare the truths
and expose the roots.
This poem is excerpted from my book: In the Temple of the Ordinary, volume 2.
