Far in the Woods

A walk in the woods,
thin paths rarely walked,
the odd bit of sculpture
hanging in the trees.
No label. No sign. No way
to know what it is,
a perfect reflection
of your mood.
You stand. And look,
Happy to be in good company,
here, far in the woods.

About this poem.

Some days I cannot tell you how I feel. The result I am told, of childhood trauma. Perhaps. Or maybe it is a result of feeling too much and not being able to sort it out. So I write poetry, deep in my own woods.

The picture was taken in the woods around the Southern Vermont Arts Center.

Tom