Prophecy:
Long-abiding peace is the redwood tree,
Impalpably breathing,
That arises from the worms' beloved black soil—
And over the chaos of ferns unworried in earth—
To sense the tone of the sky.
The tree is more ancient than the Wiyots in the forest,
More gently conceived, slower, like a midnight mushroom,
As a part of the first myth that echoes
From the chance set in the beginning that made light.
The tree's roots are yearning.
The tree's trunk is its heart.
The tree's top is its essence, offering water to light.
The tree has no nerves or muscles to burn away light,
Or hinder reconciliation of extinction and birth.
And with the end of fire and the indrawn light,
The tree will be first.
— Gabriel Fenteany, February 3, 2016
