It's the needle from the prickly pine
that forms a soft nest below our feet
the crunch from tufts of leaf and debris
echo in the chill of the softest wind
Somehow mother nature is embracing
wrapping her arms around us, muffling
the sharp sounds of reality, our laughter
and chatter ringing across the air like crystal.
Mommy did you see that pinecone,
it's the perfect pinecone, can I keep it?
A little boy picks up a twig. Dadda, look!
the scatter of small pebbles scrapes the gravel path.
a small, charred piece of wood lands softly
in the amber pine straw ahead, instantly at home.
A walk in the park I thought as I inhaled
a little deeper and smelled burning wood
and evergreen. As I kicked up tiny white mushrooms
I thought, this is a walk in the park.
A path I do not amble down often enough.
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