On Willow Street

Moss clings to cedar shakes,
grows green in the rain,
mist lingers in treetops
like a solicitous spirit
incubating life
in a forest embrace.

A cradle woven of cedar and fern
encircles village cottage clusters
of wet weathered wood
along the pebbled shore.

Moss and I,
wanting nothing more,
have found a quiet home.