Tranquility of a Wood Walk
A sylvan wood unveils its majesty
and I am awed by the
magical specters that abound here.
I stroll silently through ancient
wooden sentinels who’ve stood guard here,
for more than a century;
tranquility is every step.
A peripheral movement engages my eye
and there is strange energy here;
looking, I swear I see a tiny translucent wing appear,
that is no bird!
I walk to a grandfather cherry tree,
you know, the huge ones used for furniture making;
there are fungi at the base and frilly moss.
Just below a toadstool, a fairy,
a scurries into the moss for cover;
I smile and pretend I didn’t see.
I resume my stroll, smiling at the miraculous
I have just witnessed and breathe in the
virginal ions, gifted by the trees.
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