Muir Woods

We escaped the city, rickety split,
in a beat up hoopty-of-a-car
trundling across the Golden Gate Bridge,
winding through the hills of Marin County.
At the crest of a hill we caught a peek of
the Pacific Ocean winking in the fading light.

A descent was made into the hidden valley
of Muir Woods where Redwoods grow
to impossible heights for improbable years.
Abandoning our car for the foot trails,
we wound through the trees like ant people,
the air fresh as the first day of creation.

The serenity cleared and cleaned our
city-corrupted organs of perception,
the sound of our footfalls like Adam
walking with God in the cool of the day,
a soft breeze moving across the ear
whispering a wordless wisdom.


***