I did not know their words or meaning
when poets spoke of winds and trees.
I heard their lines of brooks and flowers
and read their thoughts of clouds and seas.
But never could I plumb the wisdom,
never sense that gentle touch,
until my soul was wholly broken,
endearments slipping from my clutch.
Inward parts were moving,
never having stirred before,
reaching out with thirst for nature,
tasting life and wanting more.
Now when times in life get crazy,
all I do is slip away,
find secluded, silent forests,
filled with ferns and streams that say:
"This your nature's home provided
as a shelter for your heart;
quiet medicine and comfort
for your wounded, hidden parts,
"Come for strength when you are fading;
when courage wanes and purpose flees.
Bathe you deep in nature's magic,
sitting long among the trees,
"Find here quick and cleansing vigor
in the laughing, flowered flocks.
Breathe with creviced riblet treebark.
Feel the cool moss-covered rocks."
- Les Blough, 1980