This Spring, my youngest sister died.
NYTimes details the sufferings in Ukraine
the mass shooting in Buffalo and Uvalde
the nosedive of stock markets
the surge of gas and grocery prices
and the forecast that Corvid will roar back this fall.
I escape to the woods.
Songbirds chorus their serenades.
Sunbeams filter through trees
painting mesmerizing patterns on my path.
A gentle breeze caresses
welcoming me to nature’s embrace.
Following the red trail-markers
I stride down and up the terrain
enfolded in the serenity of foliage.
I hear the gurgling of water.
Wobbling on uneven boulders
I cross the meandering brook.
An orange butterfly flutters past.
Frogs croak their courtship calls.
Among trees I feel assured
that everything has its place in time.
These trees were here long before us
and they will be here after we are gone.
Lengthening my stride, I return
to the parking lot with hope.
I watch a man hanging rugs on branches.
People come here not only to enjoy the trails, he says.
We plant flowers, display sculptures and paintings.
This wood is an open canvas.
— Vida Chu
Vida grew up in Hong Kong, came to America for college, and stayed. She has lived in Princeton more than 50 years.
Her poems have appeared in many journals. Two books of poems: ‘The Fragrant Harbor’ and ‘The Thirteen Lake,’ by Kelsay Books. She also has children’s stories published in Cricket Magazine.
