Crackling
Leaves
Crackling
leaves lie underfoot as I stroll through the mass of trees.
The
wind caresses my skin, cools the air with each soft and gentle blow.
Airing
its song, the whistling song thrush sweeps past me like a breeze.
What
treasures will behold my eyes I really do not know.
Bobbing
around the giant carpet will I see a Jenny Wren,
Or
will it be a little fawn not yet to its feet?
Perhaps
a fox and its playful young looking for their den
Or
even a fluffy rabbit, looking oh so sweet.
But
not a single creature do I spy, in this hinterland.
It
is a place of beauty, a place of mystery and awe.
A
place untouched, fresh, unspoilt, by machine or human hand,
Where
large and smallest beings can roam, free, wild, and sure.
Though
I do not chance upon its wealth,
Their
precious place quiet and lonely lies.
Its
own treasures this place keeps for its self,
Does
not reveal to my eyes.
But
I do not worry why ‘tis oh, so quiet, for, perhaps
next
time I’ll chance upon a sight not seen before.
Maybe
‘twill be I who spies a darling little nuthatch,
Or
even the lovely peacock with its tail feathers that I adore.
Who
cares, for now, I’ll be contented with the tranquillity of this location.
For
I am not the only person to find this wondrous place.
So,
I will leave it, only for now and go find my true vocation.
Now I have
been inspired by such beauty and such grace.