He’s entering the woods as oft before,
And still his heart is thumping, resolute,
This path has been the backdrop to his more
lucid revelations, thoughts astute.
The crunch of long-dropped pine cones underfoot,
Reminds him, well, that feral denizens,
inhabit near, ‘neath torn-asunder roots,
Darkened dens where life begins again.
He’s witness to a symphony, the strains
his sense invades; canned laughter caught on tape,
This realm (distinct, unique and new) remains
his sacred place; no need to plan escape.
For he is one with Mother Nature’s best
And here, his deep-most secrets unrepressed.
Written in response to this week’s Studio 30+ prompt! using the phrase “canned laughter”.
It has been a while since I last entered this challenge, and I’m glad to be back, amidst such a talented group of writers.