The crush and shout

of the larger world

persists

beyond these fringed,

green borders

where, time and again,

I return

to drink

the Wood Thrush’s tonic

of sung sunlight,

to feel

the fern’s frill-lipped

cool breath against

my calves,

to absorb the drum and patter

of rain upon

the woods’ sheltering

green canopy.

I come to cleanse myself –

of grief and pain and worry;

to drench myself

in green.

— C. Birde, 6/28/17