When feet are weary
From the turbulence of
Traversing exposed roots
And negotiating with granite
That refuses to be moved
What sweet relief it is to
Touch soles to the hallowed ground
Of the red cedar, lived long and full
Felled only by time,
Eaten of all her insects,
Made curio by so much shelf fungi
And finally giving particulate way
As a red grained carpet welcome
across the forest floor
Beneath a canopy of azule and emerald