Californian Redwoods

Finally I have come to the forest of the Saints.
I bow down inside,
moved to awe under their worship.
I sharply draw in new oxygen
struggling to keep a metered breath,
and step so gently
I can hear my heart beating below.
How can I wake these sleeping giants?
They are more alive in their slumber than
I have ever been in my waking.
They are towers that will not be broken
down by all they weather.
They stand solemnly in the fog
of dawns morning hour.
I notice that their immensity
was not achieved by standing
too close together but by growing upward,
all life given from on high.
I stand on foliage made of perished seedlings
that tried to grow in each others shadow
instead of into their Maker's light
and they teach and teach...

Carpets of luminescent green clothe
like a five o'clock shadow on an endless face,
disguising a covering of tough ancient skin.
They are solid in their foundation
rising in breezy freedom and
increasing vulnerability.
I want to experience them
with every sense I was given.
My desire to be closer
compels me to burrow into a
flame shaped home at the base.
Cobwebs fuse to dewy lashes and a
strange warmth rises bringing adrenaline
and goosebumps to my surface.
I close my eyes and
am reminded in the dark what I
am searching for in the light.
I open my eyes and as they accustom to the
light and the dark and so does my heart.
I am full again.
Brimming with all that I need to go on.
There is such wisdom in
these mighty pillars who faithfully stand
to remind us what we await.