Poet's Enchanting Forest!
I walked through the heart of that golden-hued forest; where I've found time dances in a slower rhythm! And I search for myself amidst the mere whisper of the symphony of leaves. Here, the sun's tender fingers brush against every leaf and at the same time gilding them with warmth. Each tree stands like a bold sentinel, and their bark etched with the tales of seasons past. Their branches still hang like outstretched arms, cradling the sky with the weave of a celestial tapestry!
The water by the narrow path reflects like the mirror of eternity holding untold secrets of life and love. It reflects the worlds above me, capturing not just the image, but the essence of a true pantheist self. When I peer into the depth of the forest, suddenly I glimpse at my forgotten dreams that whispered promises of a beautiful future. Perhaps it reminds me of the footsteps of lovers who once wandered hand in hand here and their laughter still echoing through the rustling leaves.
The eye catchy light, oh, the light! It sifts through the canopy and softens through the edges, casting shadows that waltz with the running breeze. It paints the forest floor with amber hues, as if the sun itself yearns to linger here right now. I can imagine the whisper of the leaves as if they are urging themselves to sway. And most importantly are eager to tell their unknown stories. And they might comply and rust in agreement within.
Amidst this sanctuary, time stretches like a cat waking from subtle slumber. It elongates and allows me to savor each breath, each heartbeat to embrace the enchantment. The air smells of the damp earth and of moss clinging to ancient stones. I slowly breathe it and try to tread them lightly, as if they are disturbing the silence might unravel the magic. However, I also see the birds flit overhead, their magical songs woven into the very fabric of existence of my poetic mind.
And there, I can see the magic happening- where the water meets land, I sit—a poet with ink-stained fingers. I dip myself into the quill of the reflection. And the ripples carry my words across the surface too far. They become a part of the forest's lore, whispered by the wind to anyone who cares to listen to my song.
"Here," I try to write, "time is a gentle stream but a raging river. Here, the leaves are parchment, and the breeze that writes our stories telling us to dissolve with the eternity that cradles us, and we become stardust!"
And all at once I see the sun dips below the horizon, casting its final kiss upon the water. I fold my musings into paper boats and release them to unknown. And still watching as they drift away, carried by currents both seen and unseen to the mighty whole. Perhaps they'll reach somewhere in the distant shores, where other poets might be waiting and are ready to unfold their secrets too.
But for now, I think I am a witness to this quiet serene beauty. The forest, the water and the reflecting light—they weave their magic around me!For me this golden sanctuary is a place where I find solace, inspiration, and the promise that even as seasons change, some things to endure and the whisper of leaves, the embrace of water, and the eternal dance of light give the subtle celestial peace!
With💙
@chrysanthemum
