Visitor to Rusland Valley

I’ve never felt like this before. The doors
open around me, and I can choose the way
to go. So I will learn where this path leads:
uphill and hidden between the trees, which roar
like traffic – no, like streams – when the north wind blows,
scattering shadows of silence, its winter seeds,
into mossy shade and jagged steps that bend
through stony walls and sunlight. The slope descends,
​
and I look out on fields of fog and snow
where, below, I will wade through pools as high as my knees
or higher. Where will I go? Where am I now?
When winter ends, how will the forest sound?
But I don’t have to know, and that’s just why
I am not lost: Everything here is found.