backwoods trails,
scrambling over logs,
ducking branches,
scratching arms
grouse and partridge
mad flapping wings…
quiet, still,
awaiting
danger to pass
underbrush clears,
leaves crunch
between tall stately trees
reaching forever
golden hawks circle
(they always do),
clouds drift slowly,
magic descends
i think of places
from where we’ve come
and what it took to get here —
we are blessed


Leave a reply to roughwighting Cancel reply