I sit beneath the ancient oak, Its branches spread like thoughts over my head, A cathedral of leaves, Whispering prayers of unfurling life. The call of the cicadas, The slow turn of seasons rolling, Bringing forth the fragrance of autumn’s harvest, And the warmth of a remembered summer breeze. Let me return to this communion, To become a shadow among shadows, A drifting seed, carried on winds, Each moment a bloom, a music of being. Here, enclosed in nature’s arms, Ephemeral and eternal— Is where my heart sings.

• Mina Loy