Visiting the Sacred Grove

By Helen Mar Cook

Light sifts through leaves,

a bevy of beatitudes

screening elm and oak,

cedar and maple with birdsong.

In this slant of sun

a white moth flutters,

a squirrel scurries into shadow.

Breezes talk remembrance of radiance,

bright shards of light,

marvelous and shining,

the boy kneeling in prayer,

when darkness took on shape

and crept out of the grove.

Alive to the Vision

I walk out of the woodland

to discover wild carrot

veiling the fields,

no question of whiteness,

holiness, an essence rising

luminous and shining

like Gospel Light.