There is a ghost forest I’ve seen at the top of the world where wind-swept, gnarled trees grow in a timeless land.  A land where little separates the living from the dead, a barren desert with no evidence of past or future.

I have walked among ancient temples that now lie in ruins where once nature existed in ornament, but now dominate and rule the crumbling kingdom.  Where  monks, deep in prayer, from centuries past can be seen in the empty corridors.

I have been to a sun-drenched island in a faraway land, where I’ve seen trees with swollen trunks grow upside-down.  Rising out of thorn and sand, these forms loom large against a theatrical landscape.

There is an age-old forest where giants born in flame, rise up from the ashes of the earth, invincible like the phoenix.  Draped in blankets of fog, they tower higher than skyscrapers.  

There is an ancient land where I’ve seen mystic yews grow on hallowed ground, welcoming the dead at churchyard gates, coming from an age of great wisdom and spiritual significance, when rituals and magic were part of everyday life.

Fragments of my spirit now live among these places.
Will you see my traces in the shadows as daylight disappears?