Sylvan

No.9 in the Colloquy series

Darkened the tunnel beckoned
as sunlight filtered through
so gingerly I ventured
to the sylvan place I knew

The sound of trickled water
from the river down below
brought comfort to my quickened step
with beauty there on show

Treehouse

In the woods which my daughter
Called home for a while
Stands a structure quite tall
Full of mystery and guile
A treehouse built high
Now abandoned and sad
Though its stairs and its walls
With wood are still clad
But unfinished it lingers
Fenced off it its prime
Which is not all that far
I would say from a crime

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To the woods

To the woods in the rain
To sit by the fire
And warm up my hands in the dry
The sound of the drops
As it hammered down lots
And the summer hurried on by

New Music

The quietness of the woodland brook
is always worth a second look

For with its trickle so it sings
and with it a new music brings

Woodland Path

Puddles and pools of sunlight slide between the tree trunks
While shadows stripe the root strutted path
Somewhere above in the blue

Little Bridge

Fording ‘cross a gentle stream
at the bottom of the field
Down some steps cut to the bank
a little bridge revealed

The Woodland

I am inferior. Let me say it.

Let it roll on my tongue, get pressed to my inner cheek, let it
fall out to the earth, let the solar rays shine on it,
the rain hammer over it,
the soil encapsulate it,
have it arise.

The simple things

 

We’ve been here before
but the effect is the same
In this place we come back to
again and again
A long tunnel of trees
with sunlight ahead
And the fragrance of forest
in the paths we have led