In the forest a house made of forest –
stone, wood, clay. Nothing in it is false.
Thickly overgrown, scarcely can it be seen.
Things are just as they are –
appropriate, timeless, undiminished.
Only the furnishings change their positions.
People visit but most often
walk through to the back
and out again into the weather,
the wilds unimpressed.
They have come to the woods
for their dreams; to put down roots.
They want nothing to do
Only a returning few ever discover
the hidden beauty of such an austerity.
O child of God, rest in that sturdy shelter,
beyond any notions of rescue.