Silent Sanctuary

The palpable stillness of the forest
holds me.
My pulse slows toward that of
a turtle below the frostline.
The snow covered shoulders of oak
and arms of maple
attend the silence.
Far from rigor mortis, these giants and saplings
create a cellular communion of awe and respect.
At the sanctuary of white pines
I am struck speechless and motionless again.
Were it not for the white carpet being frozen
I'd remove my shoes to enter.
Each branch and twig
bears its load of fresh woolen snow.
My mouth opens as if to taste the succulent silence.
No greater gift can be given or received.
At days end I sleep with its blessing
and can bless.