Sacred Groves

Trees do not grow like this naturally,
evenly spaced,
in a broad circle dappled with sunlight
and shade,
half shield, half dreamcatcher,
this is a place of power.

You stop and breath the air,
fragrant with summer.
You can feel a storm you cannot see,
feel the moisture, the electricity
that lies beyond the mountains.

And you pray,
sure that God cares not where prayers arise from,
or from whom,
sure the power you feel
is real,
and worship needs no cathedrals,
no walls or doors,
only a heart, a place, and you.

About this poem

The picture was taken at the Southern Vermont Arts Center. For me, this little grove is one of the pieces of art.

“I can worship anywhere”, I am often told.  My answer is often “Do you?” For we can indeed worship anywhere. If, and only if, our hearts are engaged.

Tom