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Another Forest Walk.

August 22, 2008

Just suggest a walk in the woods – through meandering paths, paths that disappear over an edge, those with dappled sunlight, even those that are barely lit – and I’ll be stepping into my shoes as we fly out the front door. For most of us the woods are magical places.


There is a thing in me that dreamed of trees, 
A quiet house, some green and modest acres 
A little way from every troubling town, 
A little way from factories, schools, laments.

From Mary Oliver’s “A Dream of Trees.”



I wonder about the trees.

Why do we wish to bear

Forever the noise of these

More than another noise

So close to our dwelling place?

We suffer them by the day

Till we lose all measure of pace,

And fixity in our joys,

And acquire a listening air.

From Robert Frost’s “The Sound of Trees.”


These are amazing: each 
Joining a neighbor, as though speech 
Were a still performance. 
Arranging by chance

To meet as far this morning 
From the world as agreeing 
With it, you and I 
Are suddenly what the trees try

To tell us we are: 
That their merely being there 
Means something; that soon 
We may touch, love, explain.

From John Ashbery’s “Some Trees.”

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