In the morning
I like to watch the trees,
and all through the day.
Lines on the trunk
as delicate as
the lines on my skin.
Dirt at the base
like the shadowy markings
on the bottom of my feet.
I take in a tree,
then I take to it.
The way its leaves
converse with sunlight
gleefully—smiling.
Sitting at their feet
like a pupil of Socrates,
I learn from the trees.
About stillness
running beneath the surface
like water beneath the ground.
Love and acceptance
all that I ever could be
In this place I visit often.