Becoming

Dress my drumming frost covered heart
In the bones of old oak and maple and birch
Take me outside for wet autumn walk
Although it’s myself who’s the subject of search

The rains are taking down with them the leaves
Soon the cold snow will garnish the scene
Here I stand drinking the draught of it all
Wondering what it could possibly mean

There are beautiful things a person can know
Some secrets though, can never be found
While others require the seeker to lift
Their gaze to the sky and away from the ground

Whenever I’m out there I always find me
Or rather the forests will welcome me home
The friendships I’ve cultured with fern, rock and tree
Have cultured the very man I’ve become