Far from the path that crosses the woods,
away from sounds of laughter and play,
in a place where no boot has scattered brown leaves
and the soft snow of winter rests low on the branch,
pine trees sing in an October breeze,
harmony unmatched in concert or choir.
The earth, moist and fertile, pulses in time
with a melody formed by crackling leaves
as a deer and her fawn move cautiously near
the edge of an ice-crusted, shimmering pond.
Paint on canvas could never portray what the
eye and the heart witness that day.
High in the top of a snow dappled pine,
on a limb that stretches to touch the clear sky,
the voice of a bluebird announces the birth
of a song that will dance with the moon and the stars
on its way to a galaxy hanging in space,
the gift of the forest and the rich, living earth.
Shining Spirit 
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