Driving through I couldn’t help but notice
how the forest flourished,
to the very edge of the asphalt.
As if, at any moment
the deer ferns might grow legs,
tumble down the loamy banks
and run, unhindered, with long lost cousins
on the other side.
As if the Sitkas waited, breath held,
for our transient passing
only to close in upon themselves
in an ancient prayer circle, and
again offer up forgiveness for our misguided intrusions.