by David Wagoner
Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you.
If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.
I posted this poem once before in 2011. "Wherever you are is called Here." That is at once the most glaringly obvious truth, and the most difficult thing to keep in mind. So often I am somewhere else instead of in the particular, irreplaceable, beautiful moment called Here (and Now). I'm working on standing still.
I took this photo last week on our campus. This bougainvillea is part of my Here, not a forest but a city, my Here where no two branches are the same.
Here's today's roundup.
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