Water had replenished the air
And the forests drank of this humidity;
Thus, the rain had brought its verdant blooms
Back to the woods.
We speak not of plants, whose smallest individuals
Would seem tall, strong giants to this flora of discretion;
They grew, from their sleeping states
Blanketing ground, tree and rock
Leaving the hard and cold things snugly wrapped
to see the next sunrise
in colorful, softer form.
This evoked senses, serene, contemplative
and buried in the dusty soil of racial memory;
One could reach deeper into the curtains of time,
and Perceive their patterns of spread and recession
Like trails of seafoam left upon this shore of dreams
Except the woodland lichen would, instead, rise and fall
with the seasons and the tide of day and night.
To see them clinging to the thick trunks of things much larger
Mere patches upon the ground, amongst tall forest spires
What creature could suspect that within these quiet residents
One could find, spanning the ages,
Life most ancient and grandiose?