If you go down...

Lovely day in the woods at The Footprint

[edit: I've changed from the Robert Frost poem 'Woodpile' to the following Mary Oliver poem which I preferred for the day]

About Angels and About Trees


Where do angels
fly in the firmament,

and how many can dance 
on the head of a pin?

Well, I don’t care 
about that pin dance,

what I know is that 
they rest, sometimes,

in the tops of the trees

and you can see them, 
or almost see them,

or, anyway, think: what a 
wonderful idea.

I have lost as you and 
others have possibly lost a

beloved one, 
and wonder, where are they now?

The trees, anyway, are 
miraculous, full of

angels (ideas); even 
empty they are a

good place to look, to put 
the heart at rest—all those

leaves breathing the air, so

peaceful and diligent, and certainly 
ready to be

the resting place of 
strange, winged creatures

that we, in this world, have loved.