On the forest trail
By Elise Brianne Curtin
a space
of solitude, where
essence of spruce, piñon, juniper seeps into cells.
a whisper
inaudible to ears,
translated by wind into mind’s eye,
a sigh
in rustling of needles thick with resin
and reaching of roots, spread deep in ancient Earth.
hawk soars overhead,
red and gold flickers of sunlight on upward spiraling flight
high above the hum of being human.
the forest floor
is a fine place to plant feet
on a sunny day
or when flailing in the fray,
a way up and out
to solid ground, where the only sounds are
a creek, babbling and bubbling,
winged things, chirping and buzzing,
the sturdy sway of towering trees,
earth softly bowing under weight of booted feet
and song of the candy rock ringing
in the shade of a scrubby oak,
half moon on the rise in the blue sky,
heart beating and breath, rising and falling,
in and out.
More about Elise Brianne Curtin:
Elise Brianne Curtin is a writer, editor, singer, and songwriter (of TorC-based duo Desert Milk, @desertmilkmusic) who draws inspiration through immersion in sacred, wild spaces, moments of meditative stillness, and dreamwork—practices that have been strengthened by settling in and exploring the high desert, mountainous terrain of New Mexico, rich with scenic vistas, wildlife, blue skies, and sunshine.
