Ageless, the trees reach for the sky,
the forest a reservoir of sound.
A thrush sings paeans from on high,
distanced from the hunter’s hound.
The sunlight’s golden necklace spills
its beads on trees and distant hills.A harlequin bee, its message droned
into my ear, dances away
on waves of urgency and, honed
by instinct, finds its fragrant prey.
In groves trees wait like brides in rites
familiar as geese in winter flights.
In the honeyed glow of the afternoon
God’s presence is a rose full-blown-
my faith reborn in nature’s womb.
The ground beneath me stirs – in stone,
in blades of grass, a secret life
far from the din of human strife.
Mary Engelberg