They're Prayers

Be still, my soul,
these great trees are prayers.
Rabindranath Tagore

I found my way to a spot in very rural Colorado
   that I had read about in a guidebook.
Forgotten places almost no one knows about:
   that was the theme of the book.
I drove many miles down deserted gravel roads.
Leaving my car next to an old fence,
   I hiked on trails so unused they were hard to see.
Finally I came to a solitary aspen grove, almost perfectly round.
I walked slowly beneath that canopy of branches.
I sat down in the center of that whispering arboreal community.
Soon I was lying flat on my back.
I brought the camera to my eye.
In silent stillness, the trees were not like prayers--
   they were prayers.
Prayers of praise for life.
Prayers of gratitude for life.
Prayers of love of life.
Upward-reaching prayers.
Fully grounded prayers.
When it came time for me to leave,
   something of these prayers went with me.
They are with me still.