Nobody knows how little we know
about this forest. And nobody
knows how much time we have
to piece it all together either,

nor how many mistakes we can make
and survive. So best believe
the ineffable gives life to what we
can love and revere, as when

we revel in the vine maple’s red riot
in new-growth forest, and marvel
at the gleaming porcelain shine of
mushrooms piquant on mossy trails.

And here, then there, along
Lookout Creek, golden maple leaves
parachute down, their descent
a rhythmic, slow-motion dance.

by Brian Turner in Forest Under Story