Unzipping My Sleeping Bag
The morning sun had not yet cut the forest
into shadow and light, and the gray mist of the coming
day fell from the autumn sky.
The creeping fog added its damp prospective
to the Trees. Their visually poetic patterns
were etched in red and yellowed leaves
on muted branches of greys and browns.
Ever Greens dotted the hillside as if
Punctuating the view with quotation marks,
periods, and commas, allowing nature to
write her commentaries in a breath taking language of color.
My mind captured by the fallen leaves, cascaded down the mosaic
of a hillside to the forest floor. It was released by
a small flock of birds that landed in the trees near the lake.
Their fluttering black wings slapped and echoed.
Chaotic chirping bounced with them in a morning mêlée
of song and dance. The occasional red tipped wing
flickered through the hopscotched patterns
of sight and sounds.
Welcomed by the stark morning, and in spite
of the contrast the frolicking cacophony
brought to the once quiet serene surroundings,
My sleeping bag half unzipped I stopped…
the since of oneness made me sigh in completeness.
Copyright © Darrel Smith | Year Posted 2012
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