Runcible Spoon

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In The Green Mountains


With just a stick and trail-mix,

I hike the woodland trail with unhurried pleasure.


A half-mile by the stone-skipping brook

then a loop away into the deeper pines...more delight.


Morning sun melts frost on needles,

tamps the crackle underfoot.


A rushing sound bears waterfall,

a giddy, swirling froth beneath.


Humble trek becomes steeper cliff-path.

Through a break in the foliage,


I see down into the valley, lush and rippling,

the world as intended


Day warmer now, I follow signs of shadow,

shelter in the canopy's expanse.


All around, I pay attention to my good fortune,

celebrate my bellwether obscurity:


the chattering bluebird, shy snowshoe hare,

the rustle of creatures as invisible as they are beautiful.


And when done articulating,

I put down my stick, rest against a tree-trunk.


doze or nibble, remember or forget.

This is a welcoming, nurturing forest.


The trees, the streams, the fields, indulge me

I have the heart to find it as I wish.