A Summertime Visitor

Its leaves are always praying—this is why the cottonwood tree is sacred among some Native American peoples. Perhaps most of us have holy places to which we return. Perhaps someone reading this has had, on occasion, the sudden impulse to enter once again–alone–a remembered house of worship or one to which other pilgrims likewise have been drawn.

To a Cottonwood Beside Lake Ericson
Ever a visitor of
ancient sanctuaries,
I step into the circle
of your befriending
shade, your leaves
tremulous to stillness
and to sighs like those
of grandmothers
who kneel alone
in houses of prayer.
When I go from here,
as reluctant as they,
I bring away
your whisperings.

Leave a Reply