Boulders for stepping stones pressed

against the Tarn’s edge;

Smooth waters dimpled and pocked

with browned lily pads and

rusted grasses rippled

by insistent breeze;

Break upon woodland

of lump-barked ashes,

rough maples and fine-needled pines

lit by fleet, dappled light;

Rock- and root-strewn path

of hard-packed earth

carpeted with fallen leaves

undulating, wave-like;

The air, wildflower scented —

asters, goldenrods, and hawkweed;

Leopard frog amidst the leaf mould;

All sounds of humanity,

except our own,

fallen away.

–C.Birde