As you walk, the leaves of my trees will caress your face gently;
the dew will smuggle itself into your nostrils from my branches;
the sound of birds will echo in your ears.
You will recall the deepest memories as you lower your head
to sniff a rose in my rose-garden, of a city called Aleppo,
of walking in a park there, hand in hand with your lover.
The creatures in me keep the balance of nature ticking
in the right direction.
And you will forget everything taking place outside of my borders.
You will forget the noisy cars with their pollution, the trains with the horns and the fast, very fast pace of life.
Suddenly, as you stroll inside me, you will have a revelation that you are walking in a place you could call home, a place that makes you ponder that I am only a drop in the cosmic ocean.
I get angry sometimes to prove my presence and remind you that
no matter how much you develop and progress, you are only
a drop in my river;
that the mountains, the seas, the forest and the sky are all
at my service;
that an avalanche can eat you, the sea can swallow you,
the sun can stroke you or a wild creature can appear
from the depth of the trees to feast on you.
My power makes you wonder who or what created me
and when and how.
But I love you and I know you love me too.
Be gentle with me so I will be nice with you.
If you cut my forests, disfigure my mountains or dam my rivers,
you will hurt me.
Your existence depends on me. I can take you or leave you.
I am nature. Acton Park is just a part of me.
Migrant Writing 