On Sacred Ground

The tall Firs stand as cathedrals, A plethora of colossus, eyeing their crest for the heavens. Gaze ever watchful, surveying their realm as silent guardians.On this sacred ground, life reveals an old phenomena, that of discovery.Conspicuous to the watchful eye, a woodpecker tattoos the heart of an old Fir, a feathered artist who works simply out of passion.Not far away, avian flocks return home after the day's adventure, they chirp in symphony with the crickets, an eternal awakening into the primordial night.As dusk, settles in, the dreamy landscape started its nighttime adventures. Nymphs and dryads sing in chorus with the nightingale, their heavenly voice echoes in the heart of the glade. Primroses and Casablanca lilies spread their perfume under the command of the night breeze, and carefree fireflies adorn the forest with their glistening hue.In this hallowed land, names of forgotten gods are chanted by ancient cultists in temple ruins, weary traveler takes shelter and the archaic moon in mellow demeanor silently waits for the stars to come out to tell their stories.