Among the Del Norte Redwoods

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.

Talk story

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