Sojourn

I am and am not Presbyterian, Unitarian, Quaker . . .

I carry my tent and my cookstove
my bedding and rain gear
from place to beautiful
(or ravaged)
place.

Sometimes the view
calls me to
pause,
dwell
for a time.

Other times
it is a Source
clear water
berry bushes
good forage
watercress
tasty fish
or soft leaves to
burrow in.

Or pure fecundity.
Green-ness
         that whelms the eyes
Petrichor
         that saturates lungs
         with earthly
Essence.

And sometimes
It is a place to lay my
burden down,
unpack what I have found
along the way,
and sort it through.

Set aside
what is too unwieldy.

But usually
it is the Light
falling on
and cast through
a certain clearing,

the Shelter
offered by some
Original Tree
that arrests me in my
traces.