It’s a city park, you know
But sometimes a chance moment comes
When I stroll on the muddy path and my spirit wanders
When a soft dusting of snow covers the sanctuary floor
When passing hikers inexplicably speak in hushed tones
When there are no runners or dogs
When the roar of road hum stays away
When between rain drops
everything is still for a moment ─
In this moment
I hear the whispers of the understory talk
Murmurs of sword ferns and Oregon grape
A splash of wild ginger
The bitter discord of invasive ivy
When I meet my favorite old-growth Douglas Fir
Sometimes I just look up and stare
Sometimes I touch its bark with my bare hands
Sometimes we share a bear hug
Sometimes I want to crawl
into its innards
and curl up and sleep
for a year or two
A tiny Pacific Wren appears along the trail
flitting, chirping, chatting
His erect tail points to the sky
He tells me his story
of winter
of solitude
of longing ─
longing to sing his cascading trill to his beloved
It’s early though, only January
I wonder where she is
It’s a city park, you know
