FROM SOMEWHERE DEEP WITHIN THE SEQUOIA NATIONAL PARK




Thursday, January 24, 2013

SEQUOIA GROVE

Meadow7
Meadow7
Meadow7


SEQUOIA GROVE 

A simple curious path winding through a dense forest,
Sight and smell… mesmerizing,
A gentle breeze filling thoughts with fragrances; fresh wild flowers, pine and aspen.
A doe mule deer lazily lifting her head to watch from the dew moist meadow.
I had no memory of this place, no idea how I had arrived.
Moving slowly through this new found paradise, a fox crossed my path;
Indifferent, innocent, with out alarm.
Thick moss covered every tree trunk, as one might wrap a child at rest.
Butterflies bobbing from one to the next.
Standing soon beneath the majestic, cinnamon-red, deeply furrowed trunks of the Giant Sequoia Tree.
Forward one towering beyond description or belief, its width diminishing any creature to that of insect.
The silence within the area… angelic, pure, perfect.
The ground is soft and spongy to step, thick with fallen needle.
Wrapping their base, a blanket of beautiful green fern, flourishing happily with out the warmth of our great star.
White Fur growing throughout where the sun broke between the great Red Wood.
A small gentle brook twisting along side the furthest; bubbling softly toward a distant pond.
Fresh green grass thrived without restraint along its banks,
Curling over the sides and at places, into the water itself.
The grasses to the east forming a comfortable rolling recline in the earth, a place of rest.
Yellow butter cups and purple daisies engulfing the glade, both grass and moss alike.
Small pink wild rose pedals swirling in the smooth, un-rippling surface of a wide brook pool.
South; a picturesque pond, reflecting the mountains, Sugar Pine and aspen on its far shore.
A lonely island sitting near the center with possibly; yes, blueberry bushes at its waters edge.
West, a small cottage and its thatched roof just beyond a hedge of elderberry.
Two proud Yellow Pine growing at its north east corner. 
Oh…, Yellow Pine, to smell between the folds of its bark.
Sweet scents of butterscotch, strawberry, vanilla and chocolate.
The last of which is found only in those struck by lightning, there was no such damage here.
Intense euphoria flood, at the sound of cheerful bird song,
The distant cry of a golden eagle.

But where…?                      I am Home.

END

                                                                                                                                                    EERuseell

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