Beneath the cool green umbrella of the forest canopy
walk the dark, dank, musty ground,
inhale the thick, verdant perfume of the ancient watch,
rest my weary soul in the virescent atmosphere of life.

a crying hornbill cuts a jagged scar across the understory
rending the glaucous moment into shivery shades of cerise.

A quick repose against a garrotic fig
and then I return to this restorative ramble.

The next pause finds my fingers caressing the luxuriant soil
pulling fistfuls to my face —
the rich, intoxicating taste of life.

Rolling to my back I gaze up,
(through the shiny emerald stars of leaves
twinkling as they sway to and fro in the breeze)
up to the heavens —
and sing my own song of speechless praise.