Sacred Groves

Inside the circle of trees
the light is different,
held back,
not as bright,

a protected, quiet spot,
free of fire and pain,
sacred,
not to gods or demons,

but to your own soul,
a place of rest,
chosen by your heart,
to hold life’s fire at bay

long enough
to heal.

About this poem

We all need a place, or places, that are sanctuaries. A church perhaps, or a room in our house. A mountaintop, or our lover’s arms. We need that place of total safety, more than most of us can admit.

The picture was taken at the Southern Vermont Arts Center, where I took an “artists date” yesterday.

Tom