Redwood Rainforest

Redwoods hold water like moist towelettes.

Tree needles do not contain it,

dripping on the floor of forest they have dropped.

Dusky bark holds the essence of dew

long into brisk mornings,

becoming playgrounds for fairies

hopping upon moss covered rocks.

In pursuit of greatness,

giants step about,

using stumps as staircases.

Five fingered ferns reach up,

catching water on green leafed fingertips.

Bull-frogs give out full-bellied belches

on the edge of a pond

that no longer knows its own depths.

Footsteps leave no footprints

on possible paths;

blocked by fallen branches,

known for making widows.

Dark forests are never warm,

holding on to damp chill,

long after fog is gone.

Speckled sun beams stream

through the tallest of trees

never drying the forest floor completely.

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This entry was posted in Poetry.

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