A Morning Walk
The southern joy, I see it; a majestic piney wood; its fresh aromatic pine scent climbing my nostrils; membranes absorb its woodsy essence as I breathe deeply, it becomes part of me.
Pine needle carpeting, soft upon the sandy clay, makes silent my footsteps. Above, sits an old hoot owl, framed by branches and a cloud matte. I trespass upon his world; awakening him and he hoots an order to leave him be. I spread a smile and mentally apologize as he closes his eyes again. A morning wood walk begins an inspiring day.
Written 4-15-19
For:"APRIL 2019 CONTEST 5,ANY THEME,ANY FORM,UPTO A MAX OF 12 (T W E L V E ) LINES Poetry Contest"
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2019
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