Sun low in winter haze.
Long shadows are hurdles
	for me to jump over
As I dash admidst the cedars.

Salal glistens off the trail.
Leaves crumbling into rich soil,
	soft beneath my feet.

I'm a theif in these woods:
	stealing glimpses of birds
		roosting up high
	drinking the humid air
		greedily.

Turn the corner right
	enter a dark cathedral.
Turn the corner left
	enter an airy maple island.
Sidestep windfallen log.

Wind passes through above
sending down rain and leaves.
I'm in a snowstorm of leaves
	blowing up from the ground
		spinning down from above.

I smile.
My mind clears.
Perspective is found;

The woods are real.
	Stress is so far away.
		This is where LIFE is
			This is where
				I am.