Sunday, December 23, 2012

Gifts From the Forest Floor

"Wosh-i-tah."

The ticks' trailhead
Begins at our socks,
Covering curious feet
That veer from the trail
To step into a lost kingdom


Where we sit atop an adders' den:
A reckless hike coup
In ignorant bliss
In December.

Small price to pay for our "big hunt"
The gifts gathered from your floor:


Hiking sticks in the rough,
More useful to us than diamonds;
Tortoise shells and feathers,
Our bangles and ribbons;
Lightning-charred pine cones,
Will they regenerate our homestead?

A Ouachita walk in the woods:
Magic fellowship of four blooming
Outside the confines of four cramped walls.