Walk slowly on a trail meandering through the skyscraper evergreens,
and declare to the birds and deer and that bear that might be there,
those feelings of being so small and humble here.
Feel small, but then imagining
and reaching arms high to the tops of Doug Fir.
Feel humble, but stopping shy of admitting
and shattering the pride-perfect picture frame.
Welcome to poison-laced Paradise,
with many trees, but no trees of life.
Deluding us to believe that all we need are branches, leaves and sunlight
the serpent tells us that roots are an invisible underground lie;
God doesn’t have roots, God wouldn’t sink into the dirt.
So we bask in the ultraviolet glow of our achievements
and find nourishment in our trendy new granola thing
and pretend it is enough to make us grow.
I wonder –
Where do we come from?
What giants stand before us?
(We cannot be as young as we think)
Leave the false cross, close those arms spread wide.
Spiritual-not-religiosity on the left.
Self-righteousness on the right.
That tree has nothing to hold onto,
it is falling down tonight.