Big Bear

If wind through this land carried a voice,
it would speak of the many winters
that layered this escape
under frozen spells.

A word would be said about the forest,
deep white,
comparing tales of adventure with latent misfortune.

And the lake?
Would the gusts spill the
the secret of how the ice hoists the pier,
or how the surrounding homes remain mute in snowy wonder?

To listen is key.
To sit in Earth's chair as her student,
and hold one's tongue to judgment,
and one's eyes in debt.

Let the static of the trees
lull you into a trance
and fill your shell
with truths unseen.

Nature shall cleanse
all subjects that arrive at her door,
washing not feet,
but the soul's inner heart.

(C) 2014 by Vincent Lowry