The Landscape is my Innerscape

by Stephen W. Smith

I have come to the woods,

here I find the solace I am longing for.

I have come to the woods,

here I find the solace I am longing for.

In the bleak and empty winter,

the barren trees are the bones, the skeleton that upholds me

This landscape is my innerscape.

My inner forest is just as bare.

Stripped by pandemic fear, angst and survival

the brutal winds had wreaked such havoc.

I lost my way, I lost my why.

Something stolen, others laid aside forgotten.

I stand here naked,

I am exposed like these old bare boned limbs.

I am welcomed here-my bones meet their bones.

I belong with these trees.

These trees are my brothers and sisters, my family.

Why, then, would I leave this place?

Am I bartering pilgrimage for permanence?

The pathway here is within.

The well-worn trail to the kingdom within,

this forested innerscape of glory.

That is my true home.