At home

It’s when I walk among the trees
and fill my lungs with the scent of life
that vernal green restores my ease
and washes well away my strife.
Slow. Slow, I walk beneath the leaves,
allow the green to embrace my heart,
and let it wander where it may please
until I stand no more apart.
But one I am with nature’s art:
the whispered prayer of wind in boughs,
the virile strength of seasoned bark,
the fertile soil untouched by plows.
It’s here I am no more alone.
It’s among the trees that I am home.