Here in the woods,
the light doesn’t quite shine.
In the deeper quiet, I
hear only the wind and
the laughter of leaves.
The sunshine is distant.
Here in the twilight,
I can think my thoughts,
without its brightness,
blinding my eyes.

Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham

Note: This poem is part of a longer poem. Is there a place where you can be yourself? Where you can be free, use your outdoor voice, sing or dance or remember?