Mimicked Stillness

A reflection on staring at Redwoods

Wiser than medieval myths,
older than the first of kings,
you, who for centuries on end,
have stood still enough
to pay the price of attention.

What secrets do you hold?
What mysteries have you heard
chanted into the night
under the muted breath of prayer?

You who plant yourself in the red soil
and yet sway among the shooting stars.

You who have endured flame,
outlived man, and
outstretched your slender arms
as defiant praise in this mad world.

You dance as the world rages.

I stare back at you with a
mimicked stillness,
waiting to learn what wisdom
you have for me.