I can’t tell you how many times
he passed by it,
going about
the business of the day.
As if his business
was business,
and not school,
or the words he wished to say.
Kicking up the gravel
leading in,
he’d offer a nod to
big ideas and town works,
But never took the bait
to explore
the corners
where panaceas lurk.
That is, until,
he heard the thrum of the crickets.
That gentle whirring
in the summer heat.
It happened before,
but now it swallowed him,
casting songs
about his feet.
As the morning fog
lifted off the lowlands,
that first wish to feel—
like dissipating smoke—
And go flowing
over rock and dirt,
into the shadows
of pines and oak.
He paused
and listened,
then took to wandering about,
wondering who else could be out there.
Who could be
fumbling
in the places
we’re no longer supposed to care?
No one, it seemed,
because he listened and waited,
but never a soul was found—
just the thrum—
And the windblown
symphony of wings,
climbing the reeds
in a rhythmic hum.
But the wind wanted to say more,
and demanded he
pay attention
as the speed picked up.
The ready oaks clapped
their hands together.
The crickets hushed
for the buildup.
Before him,
beeches and barberry
scratched each other,
the birch branches began to clatter,
While chickadees
and chipmunks
continued to fret about
what mattered.
But he stood still,
listening to the wind
for the first real time,
past the trill of chirping birds.
And as the corners furled,
he heard a growing thought
that melted
into words.
Subtle yet direct,
came a voice
reverberating
deep within the confines of his heart,
That said, “I am the woods,
and in me you cannot see
the end,
or the start.
So, do not think to go
looking for them,
because when they are ready
they’ll find you instead.
Just lay your hands
on the bark in front of you,
and move for
what lies ahead.”
— ❧ —
About I Am the Woods
This one was inspired by a trail leading to Heads Pond in Hooksett, NH. The spot was a new discovery for me—the result of needing to kill some time between dropping off and picking up one of my kids from practice. I couldn’t quite find the right photo from my archives for the cover photo, but the photo below is the most “wooded” one I took on the Heads Pond path.
In this poem, I imagined the speaker looking back at his younger self, referring to “he” as if he was another person. If you liked it and enjoy poetry inspired by nature, please check out In Verse and drop a comment. Thanks for reading!
