Forest Sunlight

Sunlight dapples through tall trees to
seep into roots,
flow through veins
make leaves alive.
The forest floor:
twigs, discarded pine needles,
rotting pine cones
plant remnants left behind.
Standing as stark contrast,
little green leaves,
perfectly symmetrical
protrude from Earth
with a will of their own.
They drink in the light,
given freely.
They will grow, extend branches
catch more light
on ever expanding leaves.

Images of a minister,
eyes fixed on my being,
invitation to partake in communion.
Truth falls on my skin
the way sunlight
warms through a window
on a winter day.
I take the cup and the bread
broken just for me.
Feel the goodness
given freely.
Leave to feel sunlight on face and
squint from the brightness
just outside the doors.

Above, a branch,
long since dead,
once stretched with agony
more than fifteen feet
parallel to the Earth.
Searched
to pursue with instinct
the light that
exists.
Yet, such confusion
in a course never changed.
Never wondered why
the direction headed
just didn’t work.
Death, not welcomed,
came slowly. Poor thing.

Our world,
so caught up in buying,
chewing, spitting out,
big cars and bigger egos.
I’m right, you’re wrong.
Never wondering
how we came to this.
Why things don’t bring
lasting happiness.
No change of course
or direction.
A continuous rainy day
without the sun.
Ignoring
the instinctual knowing
of light.