In the woods I feel

the hushed sacrament of a cathedral.

Even the ground whispers

divine incantations through the settling leaves.

Hallowed psalms chant on the breeze

until they rise into a mighty wind,

lifting tree branches in their offering of praise.

Holy streams of water pour

over dry and thirsty creek beds,

baptizing rocks and moss into overflowing life.

But the trees- the trees are twice as holy,

like sons of Aaron consecrated to praise and to intercede.

Sacred limbs raised in adoration

filter pure, all-consuming light,

offering glimpses of blessed redemption,

providing shelter from righteous perfection.

Soaring buttresses of trunk and limb

climb ever closer to divinity, eternity,

silent chapel walls of grace