I stand at the base of a venerable redwood,
Put my hand on its rough, knowing skin.
I feel I have to. I cannot say why.
Shafts of sunlight pour down from the distant sky,
Like light through the rose window of an old cathedral.
Once I brought Lauren here.
We had drifted apart by then.
My hand still on the ancient bark, I remember
That day, that loss.
I think what I felt that day is ageless, nothing special,
Has been known by countless others
Over the ages.
Then I recall that in the cool silence
Of that gray afternoon,
As we walked through the redwoods,
She took my hand.