Visiting the Sacred Grove

By Helen Mar Cook

Light sifts through leaves,
a bevy of beatitudes
screening elm and oak,
cedar and maple with birdsong.
In this slant of sun
a white moth flutters,
a squirrel scurries into shadow.
Breezes talk remembrance of radiance,
bright shards of light,
marvelous and shining,
the boy kneeling in prayer,
when darkness took on shape
and crept out of the grove.

Alive to the Vision
I walk out of the woodland
to discover wild carrot
veiling the fields,
no question of whiteness,
holiness, an essence rising
luminous and shining
like Gospel Light.