Into the Woods

A narrow path heading off into the woods enticed me from familiar road, that afternoon. A startled fawn dashed by me without sound, the silence disturbed only by unknown bird’s sweet tune. Why had I not noticed this lovely place before, passing by it daily on my habitual jog? I admired its natural beauty as carefully I arranged my heavy jacket for seat by fallen log. I opened virgin pages of my poetry notebook, expecting inspiration to fill them to the brim. I looked for the caroler whose notes had filled the air. Other birds had gathered, singing along with him. The air was still and warm. I could feel my eyelids droop, and could hear the droning of a hundred thousand bees. I laid my head upon the log, as soft as feather bed, in perfection of the moment, I threw worries to the breeze. Jerking suddenly awake, I saw the sun had dimmed. It was much lower in the sky, for dinner I’d be late. My family would be hungry and perhaps a little worried. They knew it was unlike me to ever make them wait. Much to my astonishment, my notebook had been filled, while I could not remember writing a solitary line. There were poems with pretty phrases and delightful metaphors. I recognized not one of them, the writing wasn’t mine. The next morning on my jog, I looked for the pretty place, but simply couldn’t find it though I slowed my walk to see. I have my well-filled notebook to prove that it was there, the little bit of Heaven that was once revealed to me.