(photo my own)
A walk within pine woods,
red needles crackle under feet,
the remembered scent of cabins
and north country grounds me
in familiar belonging.
Then the swans appear
in soft white curves
as one floats near the beaver dam
and others swim
within boundaries of cattails.
A whistle screams a train's arrival,
its roar and hurry,
toward some unknown goal.
I walk and breathe,
look and listen.
Now, a conversation with birch
who comes into view.
What is your story, I ask,
a bold enticement
held in deep woods green.
Walking alone,
the mind's prism.
How can I be alone when a world
of creation walks with me,
within me,
in every step?