A Walk in the Woods
Ginger steps, twirling round the trees,
Round and round, spinning free.
The fall leaves crackle beneath my feet,
Damp and brown, a forest bath, my retreat.
I hug the oak, strong and wide
And peek at the deer on the hillside.
He stares back at me, frozen still,
Then dashes off past the old stone mill.
A trickling sound, a nearby rill
Calls me over, through the trees,
I skip upon the rounded rocks as
The bubbling water beckons me.
The reeds and ‘rooms encroach the edge
Grasping drink, a border made
To frame the spring before me spread.
A rippled mirror reflecting clouds,
Like whispered lures laid out as shrouds.
Image by Melinda Fawver © by Sandra Fox Murphy. All rights reserved.