My Eye Will Not Forget

Blurred vision of a distant horizon where cedar rhythms dance my eye; American rainforest a-drip with neon green. Rivers run my pulse. Sunset explosion of fiery, bright orange; solid color fills the sky as if upon another world. The trees come down to kiss the shore where Pacific waves have their way. Red forest trails -- my eye is filled with wonder -- water hovers in the air! Faces look from shapes in trees ... primordial magic! Moss beds and alder swamps, blue mountains hold a burning secret. My eye will not forget.


"My Eye Will Not Forget", Tree Pruit 2004
"The Road To Aberdeen", Olympic & Hoh Rainforests Region USA, oil painting on canvas by Tree Pruitt.

*If you share the words then please credit the author too.

My Place in the Woods

Spider webs glisten in Autumn sunlight;
Diana tears.
A small waterfalls sings
a symphony of gentle trickles and sprays.
A cool breeze kisses my face.
Stone slabs that are green with moss and
ripples of light that move across water surface;
Reflections on time distorted.
At this place an altar has fallen to the ground;
Returned to the Earth of which it was made.
A small child -- shadow of my former self -- and I sit side by side
as the Sun slips to night behind a nearby hill.

-- TE Pruitt

The following was written in my sketchbook on November 19, 1995 while sitting in a favorite place in the woods near where I spent a good portion of my childhood. Reading these words takes me back to that place where I can smell the air and see the light.

In the Stream

Crackled leaves and faded dreams,
Both cries of pain and joyous screams,
Quiet moments spent lost in thought;
My sorrows poured and you flowed them away through giggling pools without a care.
I watched them drift around your bend before I returned to hiking the nearby trail.
As a child I played upon your slick ancient stone in wonder.
As grown I ponder on them still in quiet moments now rare;
Bubbling laughter and springtime roars of song.
Even now my dreams come and go with you... everything flowing.

-- TE Pruitt

The above was written in a sketchbook on November 19, 1995 while sitting in a favorite place in the woods near where I spent a good portion of my childhood, working through adolescent angst and joyously exploring my world. This is a small raw poem about letting go of sorrow to enjoy the moment as it exists.