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.
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