I am the Twig Teepee

I am the twig teepee, deep in the clearing of the rhododendron thicket.
Hidden and secret, a refuge for those brave enough to cross the nettle sentries.
I see the purple blossoms, stems,
backstage view of tangled vines and leafy limbs.
Blue sky glimpses through the canopy and sun speckles on the shadowed earth.
I am built by hands but at home in the forest;
open and ready for the weary soul.


© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Comments

Post a Comment

Your comments and feedback are welcome. Please be sure to be respectful.

Popular posts from this blog

Winter

Originally Posted: Tuesday, June 20, 2017 Winter On a day in which snow and ice imprison me in my home, and my todo list consists of revisions, judgments, and critiques, I take a pause to appreciate the long lines of the tree shadows stretching across the silky smooth sheet of white, reminding me that out of my shadows is light overhead. The dog, insistently putting her head in my lap as I try to put pen to paper, insisting on love. The blanket, lovingly knit by a woman I once heard, draped across my lap, warming my legs and my heart. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2017
Read more

Valentine Sonnet

Valentine Sonnet She’s the shy girl in her scuffed Mary Janes watching for lacy pink “Be Mine” hearts drop into the gold painted glitter-filled box, nervously holding her breath, but in vain. Her valentine box is ready to gain blood-red Sweethearts, frilled hearts, on her desktop. She’s waiting for Prince Charming’s step to stop in front of her freckle-faced grin, again. Now she’s the very same girl who’s so learned, no matter how much gold is spray painted or how long for Prince Charming she’s waited. that love is not found in boxes and verse, but in moments of heart filled connection, and in moments of tingling affection. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2019
Read more

On the Sale of Our Sailboat (Sonnet)

On the sale of our sailboat, dreams soaring away, on a run, in the wind, sad to see the horizon approach; the sun behind me shines a light on the breeze and me laughing out loud at the seemingly lazily floating by world. Past the mem’ries of days when we soaked in the warmth of the sun, glad to be kissing air, tanning skin, long brown hair blowing back, catch the wind, feel the speed, trust the tack. The elation of fun, when the boat caught a run, in the moment by moment days when we won the world and the wind, and our lives, looking back, the horizon ahead and our faith in our ride. Now, the blue's not the sea but our aging betide. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2019
Read more