Come sit with me.
Bring whatever you’re carrying,
small griefs, large ones.
Set them down on the forest floor.
If you’ve come in spring when birch
buds release their clasped leaves,
think about someone you’ve lost, how
they offered you this same exuberance.
In summer, the swish and rustle
of aspens will winnow around you.
Bluebells will blossom, remind
you how quickly things change.
If it’s autumn, tamaracks will sift
flaxen needles while squirrels
chirr from spruce branches
wondering how you’re getting ready.
Winter demands special attention.
Life tapers to a tiny flame kept safe in
the heartwood, tended in darkness.
You , too, must do this.
Come, enter the forest, accept
the invitation being offered.
There are many ways to heal.
Come sit with me.