Deep profound appreciation in those aquatic eyes.
No malice fur-lined.
Indifference in disguise.
Whether, wild, untamed, feral.
No written word to suffice.
Only man-made gestures to make what is captivating…
Agreeable and nice.
I can stand, small by the roadside.
Or, tall beneath the archway of timber and emerald pine.
Trouble may beset me.
Chase all flaws out onto an unforgiving black top.
Nonetheless, no natural cadence to the man-made road.
Only optimism in the undiscovered broken bough.
Lyricism in the rusty, discarded plow.
Letter from Mother…
Insinuate with soft, well, chosen strides.
Leave an open arm’s path…ahead and behind.
A venue for others to confide.
Not all season’s covet rebirth.
Ultimately, no man-made earth.
Contrite, as it appears.
Extinction grows near.
Beware an over harvest…coupled with a weighty appetite.
In every budding sapling, a saint, a sinner.
Nil is the return…on a landscape that cultivates thinner.
The shadow’s tire on decayed cornstalks.
In a layperson’s terms,
it is less in the way…
more in why…