When the forest gets inside us, it stays there; parched ribs refreshed drip green moss; weary hearts newly beat plush strong rhythms, a mysterious geomancy of the mind; not just a walk with my dog, but a significant journey of two brave explorers amidst ancient cedar, fir, arbutus, raven, dark earth, and lichen; paw prints through mud under eager wagging tail, my awed plume of breath on the cool silent air, and his playful breath, too, with lolling happy dog tongue; there is a sacred hush amidst the towering trees where old delighted gods beckon us with cracked branch fingers, grey bark smiles, and on and on we walk and smile back because when the forest gets inside us, it stays there.
Andrea Layne Black
writer/painter, comrade of Amicus,hound extraordinaire
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