Last week I was so fortunate to cross paths with the inspiring students at Lakeview, and wander through the woods with these curious young souls.
One who I will call TS, wrote this poem.
Dear Future Generations,
I am in a beautiful place
I know you might not understand.
The birds chirp, wild mushrooms decorate, and colorful flowers grow.
Branches snap, and the whistling wind
is a cool breeze that flows across my face.
We walk on the same soft ground
as all the amazing animals that wander the woods.
The colorful leaves on the trees
mark the season of fall, filled with wonder and beauty.
Dear Future Generations.
Do you remember any of this?
It seemed a more fitting summation than anything I could write here! For two weeks I have been alternating between moments of vast and unnerving productivity and moments of banging my head against these tree house walls. To any writers who read this in the future, remember that there is value in both – that the knocking sometimes dislodges in the imagination that which could never be found in stillness. Thank you for feeding my belly with the most marvelous vegetables and foraged fungi, my ears with the roaring howl of this big ol’ lake, and my eyes with these near-blazing trees!
Bryan Peebles Cofrin-Shaw – September/October 2018
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