Under the cover of trees, we wander.
To and from spaces that become home for a night.
Among the tall pines, we look inside,
to find what there is to be wrought from our minds.
The strength in our muscle is from what is grown, not made.
And we inspire others to experience these days.
As our feet impress the rich forest floor with our presence,
we know they will tell a story long after our absence.
So we respect the paths that which we make.
And better paths through life we take.
Our hands build the things we gather in life
And our bodies are tempered to weather through strife
Our eyes look up to the blue and down to the brown.
We are aware of those things which laugh all around.
We remember there is beauty in a flower’s bloom,
In the moss-covered rocks of earth.
And all that there is to discover,
Is found around the embers of last night’s hearth.
The trees are mirrored in the stance of our height.
And our eyes relinquish that guarded light.
For what we feel in these forests so full of Vitality
Is the world as it once was.
As it is.
And all that it still could be.