My quiet place, site of transfiguration,
green sanctuary before the trials begin.
I walk between your slender trunks, inhale,
and feel your peace invade the deepest corners.
The dappled light caresses me, your leaves
massage my soul. Here, in your gentle shade,
my pulse slows down, my breathing calms and fears
take shape. No longer nebulous they are
reduced and I am raised. My shoulders straighten,
back aligns and chin lifts up. The chiffchaff
laughs, singing to my core, restoring order.
Inaudible, your water’s deep joins in,
a living bass sounding permanence.
Strolling, the different colours of the seasons
rotate: spring’s budding green gives way to summer’s
blue, before the autumn’s sweet decay
to winter’s monochrome. With each a different
chorus echoes, from warblers’ ecstasy
to cuckoos’ mournful sigh. With every scent,
each call and tint, the grace of hope is given.

A comment by the poet Malcolm Guite about the need for places like Tolkien’s Lothlórien, or moments like the disciples witnessing the transfiguration in order to be refreshed and enabled to cope with the challenges and trials of life, made me wonder where I turn to. Wandering through the nearby River Lee is certainly one such place.
(23.04.26)

© Ben Quant 2026