For all of us
From our perch beside the little branch
behind boulders and an ancient root sculpture
in the brilliant new green of May,
we sit and see what there is to see.
Lichen of all colors,
flowery and tenacious,
spiderwort, chickweed (yum!)
and mean old poison ivy,
saying “hi” from the rock face
right behind our heads.
Though we are each sixty,
the boulders laugh out loud
at our foolish youth.
Watching and watching, we wonder
who in the woods is watching us?
Straight and low, a pheasant flies,
annoyed by our disruption.
I gaze and gaze, and suddenly there appears
a yellow trillium, the wood’s own gold,
singing her own song in the moist humus,
for nothing, for no one,
for all of us.
May 4, 2013
|Red trillium (Wake Robin)|