The cool shade of the woods
pulls me into its depths, luring me
further than I’d intended to go,
so rich with vegetation, the air feels green.
There’s a sign for a cemetery,
I make the decision to follow, tracing
a jagged, crooked track downhill,
aromas of cedar and mycelia infusing as
humidity encases me, sweat sticking on
skin like dewdrops left lingering on leaves.
Life hums from edges of the trail out into
trees buzzing, calling, climbing, searching.
I look down and notice a Luna moth
resting on a weed where I almost stepped,
camouflaged, barely visible there amid all
that pale emerald haze.
I walk with a stick, weaving slow circles in
the air matching each step, a steady
rhythm clearing spiderwebs, working to
notice each small thing along my path.