I was lucky enough to visit Washington Oaks Gardens State Park recently. My parents told me it was beautiful, but I was not prepared to have my breathe taken away. The live oaks, estimated between 200 and 300 years old, were something out of a children's book. I was in awe. So I wondered, in my trusty birks and a light maxi dress, in and out of the branches and trails and wrote...
A trail beckons, opens its arms and calmly welcomes,
Rocks jump and crack with each step,
Moving slightly to preserve her memory.
A never ending tunnel ahead,
Shrinking space provoking curiosity and wonder.
A great deal can be learned from palms and pines,
But the most from the old oak.
Brown bases adorned with dripping jewels,
Covering on all sides protecting, but not smothering.
Gentle beasts, their silent courage steady.
Their secret strength beneath the surface,
Rooted by their fingertips acceptance of the ever-changing wind.
Branches twist and turn showing their journey,
Forever reaching towards the sky,
Thus never touching the ground.
Within its shade, she breathes deeply
Admiring the test of time the old oak passed.
Her hair mimicking the moss, delicately swaying.
Her mind is clear as the air, her limbs light as the wind,
Her spirit made anew.