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Ode to Limekiln forest
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Trees surround us.
We cannot see their tops;
we are simply cocooned
in graceful bows
and gently-breathing ferns.

Narrow beams of light
are visible in misty air.
They reflect and refract on a cold stream,
so clear and colorful,
deep teal as the ocean.

A fawn quietly wanders.
Does she know she lives in a sacred place?
A wild, living refuge
in a plastic world.

Mushrooms grow silently,
sprouting up in an instant
like bubbles popping into existence.
They have been mushrooms for a thousand years.

When I enter here,
I believe in some kind of magic.
I believe in an eternal well of renewal.
I believe this forest will always be.

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