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witchscauldronThe forest is my cathedral
its canopy my painted ceiling
where God meets Man
its trunks my marble pillars
connecting Heaven to Earth
its birdsong my choir
small music of the Spheres
The forest is my cathedral
the green leaves my stained glass
streaming through with sun
the pooling rains my sacred font
Holier water than could be made
the earth my communion
Hands in Soil, magic and mundane
The forest is my cathedral
older than any building
enduring like stone and mortar,
breathing and flowing and living
Here, I walk in beauty;
no other temple holds my heart as this,
cradled in leaves and shadow.
its canopy my painted ceiling
where God meets Man
its trunks my marble pillars
connecting Heaven to Earth
its birdsong my choir
small music of the Spheres
The forest is my cathedral
the green leaves my stained glass
streaming through with sun
the pooling rains my sacred font
Holier water than could be made
the earth my communion
Hands in Soil, magic and mundane
The forest is my cathedral
older than any building
enduring like stone and mortar,
breathing and flowing and living
Here, I walk in beauty;
no other temple holds my heart as this,
cradled in leaves and shadow.
