My woods, my gentle comforters stretch to no confines but blue and to the sun. They surrounding me in shaded blankets, but unholding in the unbridled sense of it.
It’s to my special spot I seated in fallen form meandering through the tall pasture waving sea-like, to the tree… my tree, I say in humbleness.
Its ancientness anchored no longer to dark soil, its soul decomposing from whence it came.
We sit together, I now above the bark. I rub wishing to gain wisdom of the why’s, where’s, and when.
Many shades of shadows filled with greens waltz around me in goodly nature. The squirrel barks in dissatisfaction as he thinks he’s ruler in the upper canopy.
Right here, right now, the Promised Land has been given me it leased me in my short time here.
The gentle giants creaking in the breeze bemoaning; it seems to me in conversation…
View original post 164 more words
WILDsound Festival 