In the hushed woods, solitude cradles me, As the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee Infuses my hands with gentle warmth, And memories of Joy drift like soft petals In her cherished spot where bluebells bask in a dreamlike haze.
Beneath the delicate veil of morning mist, The trees bow in silent adoration, Whispering secrets of distant yesterdays In the rustle of tender leaves and the murmur of the breeze. Light and shadow engage in a quiet ballet, echoing forgotten smiles.
I wander along winding trails where memories lie hidden Among tangled roots and freshly sprung shoots. Each soft footfall on the familiar earth Revives whispers of past laughter And stirs a tender dialogue between what was and what is.
In the gentle glow of the unfolding day, Echoes of Joy linger like faint footprints Across the heart of the forest; a delicate imprint That speaks of love and quiet resilience, As natureβs eternal hymn offers solace in every sigh.
So I surrender to this living reverie, Where absence and presence entwine in quiet harmony, And every moment, like a petal adrift in a stream, Carries the bittersweet cadence of life; A promise that even in solitude, hope blooms anew.
Joy is my wife who died 2 years ago. You can read this as being a poem of joy or my poem for Joy. I really did sit in the woods today drinking coffee and looking at the newly blooming bluebells while notating this to refine at home.