Calm in the Eye

Walking the wooded way
By Badger's Worfe and Dingle low
Along narrow farmhouse rut
Over field and mire I go
Foreign and yet native
Forging paths twixt root and bough
Suddenly exposed
Crew-cut crops aligned by plough

Nature's nook and cranny
Folded into copse bound field
Mysteries bound in the fold
Such pastoral scene doth yield
Stark and deadened trees
Solitary figures in the mud
Twisted branches clutching
Silken clouds as they scud

Nestled now in line of fir
With parching pause a must
Needles glide in casual grace
Piling as snow in drifts of rust
The locomotive roar
Of gale winds in their tops
Rushing in with no warning
Of when it starts or stops

A rapid silence descends
Limbs that yet still quiver
While snatches of that breeze
Still madly whip the river
And coffee leaves like rats
Scampering up my trail
Flying from unseen foe
Momentary beauty oh so frail

My breast awash with awe
As vast as will allow
Future memories of this past
Batter my senses now
Nature's orchestra tuned
I'm enraptured by the score
Reverent of the milieu
That leaves me wanting more.

Top Of The Page