Your sons and daughters will prophesy (Acts 2:17)

(After the image “Humid” by Joshua Eric Williams)

Every so often the trees call,
needing to impart wisdom.

When their mystical chant beckons,
I hasten to walk their forest abbeys,
straining to sift secrets
woven into murmur of leaves.

One such afternoon,
sun tall in cloudless sky,
I sat and leaned
against an elderly oak
that seemed particularly vocal.

As my eyes wilted
color faded from the universe,
leaving only shades of anger and hate.

The oak stood alone,
its canopy a menacing storm cloud
thundering in despair
while leaves whipped into a frenzy
to scribble words in the air.

I could almost make out letters
in the gyrating scrawl
but meaning eluded me.

Glimpses of light
beyond the swirls of fury
bewitched my senses
with hints the darkness
may yet be tamed.

I would have done anything –
would do anything –
to penetrate the gloom
and bask in illumination.

When I awoke,
the sun rested on the horizon,
its fading radiance
barely penetrating
cracks in the forest wall.

I shook slightly from dream-fear
and knew I had experienced
the revelation of a true prophet.

©2022 Kenneth W. Arthur