when I was a child, no older than six or seven
every week my father would bring me on an adventure,
each week we would travel not too far away
to the locals woods - hours of fun and games.

Each week while exploring
meandering through weather beaten trees
my father would teach me
to be kind to the leaves.

I was not to displace the way nature
had created such fine art,
nor was I to anger
if rain were to start -

I would not cry if the roots tripped me up
because they were a beautiful design,
and where there is beauty
there is life.

While exploring all the nooks
of the endless forests
I would learn to not disturb
the animals who slept

nor would I carve initials
into the old oak trees,
or take home its offering
as cheap souvenirs.

each week there would come
the time when we must leave
and our ritual would commence
with the hugging of trees.