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Poem

Quietly, I walked along the pine needled path
as a pair of larks serenaded the morning sky.
They trilled from branches high in the trees
until I sneezed from pollen flying on the breeze.
I'd beg their pardon, saying I meant no harm
but quickly they flew away, filled with alarm.

A tear on my cheek for the havoc I'd wreaked
as I knelt 'neath the shade of an ancient oak,
bowed my head so as not to provoke its ire.
I felt the sun on my nape, the heat of its fire
daring not to move from it and into the shade.

I stayed beneath the bowing limbs, praying
as summer's stifling wind had them swaying...
until sweat ran in rivulets down my back.
It was not humility for nature that I lacked, 
for I held great reverence for earthen things,
mosquito hawk wings, wildflowers,
and the trees that tower over me.

My legs were numb as I succumbed to pain
and sat upon that needle strewn path
until a gentle afternoon rain fell from the clouds.
Until the larks returned to take a flutter wings bath
in puddles. I managed not to laugh aloud
and disturb their forested refuge once again.
I sat quite still, and they began to trill in song,
glancing at me now and again with forgiving eyes.
Or perhaps it was a look to criticize my presence.

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