This is the house of Love, which has no bound nor end.


Two trees, more silver than the rest,
older and wider and intertwined
with all their offspring, guard the entrance
to the second grove and I gaze on, entranced,
held between that deep green and silver
and this lime and orange-grey growing
on the rounded rock beside me,
lichen and the lyrics of leaves below us
blown together by this mad life, still
perfectly placed by the passing generations
while one horse with a white dash
right down his middle munches new grass,
sprung in the wet wake of last night’s grace,
and greets a passing cow on her way
to an old pasture, now renewed.

I have been here before, so many times,
so many hours spent sitting in these rocky hills,
one endless prayer for peace and, finally,
as the robin comes to sing her part while
hovering right in front me,
the presence,
before it all and come at last
to stay.


I say we’re made of love

And golden embers

Guardian Trees