Walk softly in bare feet into
the cool twilight of native woods
on a plush carpet of pine needles
and oak leaves worn soft by
the rains of early spring and the
aeration of earthworms
performing their life’s work.
Breeze blows gently, caressing
the gauzy branches of trees
whose chartreuse leaves quiver
in anticipation of secrets shared
and secrets yet to come.
A destination that has no path, only
instinct and memory’s guidance of
a sharp right past the blackberry
patch, the berries hanging heavy
and succulent on the brambles,
then a gentle left at the sweet gum
tree with spiky fruit that says,
“move along -through the sun
dappled shade, move along”.
Over the hill to the crest of
the pond levee at last, where
frogs croak hoarsely their
eternal mating calls of lust
while the sleek head of a snake
divides the glistening oil of scum
on the water’s surface,
discouraging notions of feet
dangling and daydreams, after all.