old soul new place

giants on the pacific coast nearly out growing the valley floor they call home, two hundred fifty feet tall, twelve hundred years old, thirteen feet wide, bark thicker then firewood. 

sun beams make spectacular displays, poking through the tall canopy, illuminating soft clovers larger then my palm, urging rest, streams babble soft reminders, foot bridges two wide carved from fallen lovers, butter smooth against my bare feet. 

restless i stir... sometimes losing oneself is the only way to gain direction.