A Trail Through Nature
A slow line weaving up the path
Stops, and ponders . . . what way? which way?
The ancient forest bristles, with a bit of alarm:
What are these strange creatures with eyes of wonder?
Do they come to cause us harm, tear us asunder?
The line reaches the stream; tearing off socks and cooling knees,
Catching the late sunbeams that pour through trees.
Swiftly setting up tiny tents and heating rice and peas,
Quickly, before the sun sets, for through the trees the long eye sees.
Ah, say the trees, so they too have enemies.
A tiny fire only is left burning, and for a while, they play guitars and sing,
Mostly songs of love and dreaming, of love and yearning, reaching deeply into being.
The forest gazes, but slowly eases, seeing no axes, knives, or spears,
Unlike with others who have come through here.
Others who chopped down the family for a road
And fenced off the woodlands, where deer used to roam.
The forest gazes, rustling a leaf.
The strangers settle down, fall asleep . . .
And the forest breathes a sigh of relief.