The Waltzing Wood

A poem by Alexis Ragan

There is a place where wanderers

go when they want to waltz with God.

The dance floor is made up of sticks,

leaves, and fallen branches from ancient trees,

and when you step foot on it, the whole

forest begins to glow. I know,

because I have been there before

and when I traveled to this secret spot,

my compass knew just where to land me and leave me

in the midst of Yahweh’s waltz —

How beautiful are your dance moves, Lord,

the way Your sway mimics the way these

evergreens brush back and forth, back and forth,

I move closer towards You until I start spinning

in enthusiastic circles; miracles are birthed

in such a place as this — I know,

because when I started turning,

I began to

u

n

r

a

v

e

l

and there was no stopping the shedding

of fear, doubt, shame that once

wound me up into a ball of yarn so tightly.

When I traveled back,

glowing from the waltzing wood,

I made a promise to tell everyone

to visit this place, a most sacred space,

nature’s ballroom to waltz with God.