I enter the pine forest, and looming into view
is a lean-to built among three huge trunks,
crisscrossed like Lincoln Logs® to form a structure.
I lift my hand to one of its proud architects,
shout, “Nice work,” and ponder its meaning:
fortress, place of worship, shelter from storms?
No matter. Boys’ hands were put to use. Inspired,
they gave us hikers labor’s love to admire.
It won’t last long. One day soon I’ll walk through
and their sanctuary will be gone, absorbed by
the forest from which the tiny temple grew.
And while I won’t remember the face
of the boy priest who waved at me,
I’ll try to recall what spirit
if not eyes can see.

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