Quieting

Some days the woods are silent
with nothing to tell me,
minding their way, breathing their own breath
and some days they let me through the veil
there's an opening
and inside I go
inspirited
an elning
that's when the shadows cover the light
in deep browns
and golds make a path through the mosses

now the leaves are falling with the rain
so much golden stands of cottonwood
and birch has shimmered this week
so much cedar is gathering on the ground
and fir and cones
twigs

this woodland soil is even dry
these large living trees are
wondering about us
becoming very quiet

I would like to bound and leap
I would like to lift up my voice
I would like to come alive
but I am slowing with the sun
and waning like a moon
and quieting with the sap of the birch

Lydia McCauley