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Poem
Smaller than a dinosaur, 
But bigger than a bear, 
A boulder’s tucked back in the woods,
Forever, it’s been there.
It’s wondrous in its natural form,
A nursery, home, and den.
You may not notice at first glance,
Come closer, look again.

Among the trees and woodland brush,
It blends into the scene.
If not a second closer look,
I’d never would have seen.

A closer look, it’s crevices,
Have tiny forms of life.
Sprouting seeds and baby bugs,
A nursery for wildlife.

And on one side there is a ledge,
Where I can safely sit.
A little chair, a throne of sorts,
I stay to think a bit.
I’m nestled in the trees around,
The pine and fir and birch.
Then watch as sparrows, crows and wrens,
Fly down to take a perch.

Its striped with veins of sediment,
Of white and flex of gold.
Perhaps entombed with fossils from
The Ice Age, oh, that’s old!

A bearded, scaly tree entwines
Its roots around its form.
Creating spaces, tiny rooms,
A woodland creature’s dorm.
The pockets of collected dirt,
Make perfect little holes.
As squirrels, chipmunks scurry in, 
And moles and tiny voles.

When my imagination runs,
I think of what could be.
A closer look, a world exists,
If only just to me.
Is this an old enchanted rock,
Where mythic creatures hide?
No bigger than four inches tall,
Down little holes they slide.
I wonder if these elves can sing,
Or if the faeries talk.
One thing that I believe for fact,
It’s more than just a rock.

Perhaps the root’s a giant claw
Protecting very well,
The secret homes and cavities,
Where elves and faeries dwell. 
They feast upon the berries from
The bushes all around.
And chestnuts, acorns, pinecones too,
That fall onto the ground.
They keep a pretty fancy home,
Though never have been seen,
With pebbled pots and shady spots,
And carpets mossy green.
The sun wakes up the dewy sky,
I see the carpet glisten.
I hear the sounds that mornings bring,
If I just closely listen.

I feel the roughness in its size,
And smell the forest floor.
The richness in the leaves and soil,
Each life producing spore.

Before I leave, I circle ‘round,
And take a final look.
There’s weeds that ‘milk’, a spider’s silk,
Another secret nook.

So if you see a dug-out log,
A rose or winter wren,
A forest floor, please look some more,
Just every now and then.
And all the possibilities,
Present themselves, and when,
There’s always more than meets the eye,
Don’t pass it by.
But wonder why.
Let your imagination fly.
Come closer, look again.
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