Hope, Restored

Dirt mixed with bark and twigs

As I walk down the trail,

Click, Click 

Goes the walking stick

Making me feel old and frail

Approaching middle age,

Moving through dark forest.

The mountains around me

Stare down impassively

No mark of progress

Nothing to distract me

Only rocks

Dotting the steep slopes

Intermingled with snow.

My thoughts turn inward,

Like a burrowing plow

Under forest pine-bough

Unearthing, laying bare

Regret and despair

My memories,

A ball of worms

Writhing,

Unaccustomed to light.

Red paintbrush, violet lupine

A splash of color, a sign

For stale thoughts to retreat

As soft grass brushes my feet

How can I dwell in wrong?

Listening to faint birdsong

Pulling me back from slumber.

Sunlight breaking through trees

Melancholy darkness recedes

Beautiful meadow, soft, green

Fed by clear blue water, so clean

Rushing, tumbling, rolling

Overpowering winter

Giving life, washing wounds,

Restoring hope.