Beneath the cool green umbrella of the forest canopy
I
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.

Suddenly
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.
Hallelujah!

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