Awake, under whispering pines
Giants shoulder to shoulder, I
Walk at their ankles.
A scattering of Red Cedar, chicks
under Hens' wings. They loiter like houseguests.
Here and there a Holly — How did you get in here? —
Sharp-witted with bright eyes.
I'm looking for the Zen of early winter, a
Blanket of thick needles,
Pillow a bracket of ferns,
my book the alternating,
Stripes of Light
and Shadow, between which
All Life happens.
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