the forest path

when we have to leave a part behind. a poem & a painting

the forest path

God is in the light,
but holier,
maybe,
in the green hush
where it filters down
dappled through
veined leaves of
stained glass.

No bells here,
only birds.
A single crow calls
one long note,
and the forest answers
by continuing to be.

Somewhere behind you,
your old life sighs
and sits down.
The leaves cover it softly
like a prayer
that doesn’t need
to be answered.