A look at nature through the eyes of an honest seeker of wisdom & beauty.

The Ancients
It's my last day with the old giants.
In mourning I hike the lost trails,
sniffing the aroma of the bark,
that cinnamon of the forest
Under tepees of wood
in a membrane of shadows,
I stalk the earth, its mammal traces,
its elusive tracks,
to sit on a fallen log.
where spiders macramé,
moss sloping to my knees.
unaware of invisibles within.
grubbing in their tunnels
A lizard taps my foot.
responding, I muse to its touch,
my thoughts like Indian visions.
And when daylight mushrooms into night.
and an owl hoots from cedar.
I still sit with a lizard on my shoe.
Huddled with the ancients of the woods