Sundays are
for silence;
for sounds of
malachite soul
and belonging to
the forest thick
and deep.

I hide myself
among her needles
of aged old pines,
and they tell me
that over exposure
is far overrated- –
better to stand
where you are planted
and simply allow
yourself time
to take root
and find
your wise.

We understand
each other
-I and the trees-
each of us
tucking our
bottomless
vulnerability
beneath an
ancient visage of
mossy rings and
braille-laced
bark.

If you press your
hands against us long
enough, you’ll
read-feel-see
the same
stories:

Ground in Love.
Stand in Love.
Reach in Love.
Grow in Love.