“Keep close to Nature’s heart… and break clear away, once in awhile, and climb a mountain or spend a week in the woods. Wash your spirit clean.” – John Muir
Photo credit: National Geographic Gallery
SHE STOLE MY SOUL
She walks me through her meadows
as if to forget about the world.
She guides my spirit as I climb
her snow-covered peaks
touching the crowns of her trees
clothed in shimmering gowns of majesty.
Or is it a veil of ancient eloquence?
I fall in love every time
I feel her touch upon my face.
She showers me
with all her precious treasures
as if I were her only baby,
a cub born in a carefully dug winter den.
She lets me drink from her lakes
and bathe in her summer rain.
She selflessly offers all
she has to share,
shelters me from the storms
of the outer world as if
her lush valley was some kind of a fairytale
with a soft pillow and blanket
stitched during sleepless nights
just for my comfort and enjoyment.
She wipes my tears away,
not from my cheek but my heart.
And when I think of the presence of death
she shows me the liveliness
in the playful birds and grazing deer nearby.
But she’s not all that innocent
for she is a mischievous thief
hiding behind her ageless charm.
She stole my soul and made it her own.
She painted it in the opening of the indigo skies
and with a twinkle in her eye
urged me to rest my mind
on the canopy of midnight stars.
Although I continue to traverse
the fabric of this weary earth,
the sandy beaches and rocky paths
where rusty barns tirelessly endure all elements,
I keep looking up as if
to feel the rhythm of my heart
in the wing of a butterfly,
in the shape of a billowing cloud
in the heartbeat of Nature herself.
I see her love in the seasons of life
as she tightly holds my soul in her arms
offering me flowers till the day I die.
By Sharka Waite