Chantara stepped into the woods and saw tons of trees.
Into the jocund day the tree stood as cheerleader to each passing spirit.
The tree in the ever-hug of the atmosphere, crows the hillock and flourishes both wand and foliage.
Tree bark is the brown fingerprint of my soul, for as I touch it I feel a divine connection spark.
The tree leans into the sunny rays as if they were lovers in eternal trance.
Though black heavens and sun-lit days, the tree is sentry to landscape, the stoic guardian of so many souls.
The tree is the grand poem of the living world, a beauty that encourages the spirit to dance though words, to make our odes to it's branches that spread heaven-bound. And in the strong light of the new day it creates a kiss for the senses in those moving leaves, the thousand green hues and the soft whispering in the wind.
