Helping Turtles Across the Road

So few are my misguided thoughts on religion…whilst in the arms of a golden, August day.

I could walk forever into the unknown…bathing in the silver lining of a sunflower’s intoxicating…glow.

I could even dare all tomorrow’s…in the deep, stare of a steer’s gaze.

Now and always, deep in the musky, wild…sorrow weakens.

Worry becomes less bold.

I understand all that is not mine….because the stillness of humid air tells me so.

Crab Apple perfumes my mind…

I live to let go.

All this and so much more…

helping snappers across Morrill road…

Is the only religion I need to know.

to the Earth

Eery with the waft and wiff of wildlife.

Sad and yet, joyous is their song.

I understand between the lyrics…this, this, is where I belong.

Never to run, a walk is where my curiosity fits.

Though nothing is delicate between the thorns and ivy. And, cagey hills are lonesome and long.

The untamed…a favorite song.

Sanguine and sandal-ed…to the earth is where I belong.

My silhouette of vanity ties me to the beauty.

My silhouette, minuscule, to all of mother’s scenery.

Hard Woods

Malingering

The streets that I stray…

dusty with emerald mystery.

Still they call my name.

All thoughts and fears…

pebbled with blind trust.

To be a wild winged bird…

I would not know where to start.

To whisper into the wind…

I would not know where to begin.

Drifting has become a part of my woolen and woodsy need to be there.

With every nesting squirrel.

With all wild lingerers…

I roam just to be.

A Question for Nature

I wonder what nature sees of me…when pretending not to be?

Does she see me as a threat to her luminosity?

Do the robins nest further up a shady pine?

Is my manner of awe and unsure footing a hindrance to her placating design?

As my oar settles into her complacently, mysterious, waters…does she sense that my intentions…are unkind?

One foot after another, I go back to her response.

The whistle through broken limbs and the frigteningly, gothic music that descends.

If there be admiration, it is one sided.

In nature’s woods…it is just pretend.

Back Roads

I drive these back roads…

And,

am,

reminded of home.

Long, desperate, going places that have passed along.

Gritty browns with nameless…greens.

A picturesque, quaint, scene.

Of course,

I have aged like farm-stand cheddar.

Tart but tasteful. with a woodsy trace.

Though life has sped up.

I manage to find a slower pace.

In a quest for deeper appreciation…

I delve further.

Windows down…

Listening for a weathered sound.

There are no wrong turns…

In my veiled valleys.

Just moss under my wheels.

And, a love for nature’s folly.