Favorites - Nature

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Across a rolling hill, spread wide, a quilt sewn out of phlox

Patches strewn across the ground in vibrant pinks and whites

Upon which, rows and columns, silent ranks, of chiseled rocks

Surrender to the floral waves atop the grassy heights

Folks who came to pay their visits, many years ago

Searched for loved one's names among the lonely tombstones there

Planted tiny flowers, year by year, and watched them grow

Spreading hazy fragrance in the springtime, churchyard air

When I stand no longer in this world that I've called home

Having passed perhaps, from here, to somewhere far away

I'd like to be remembered with a flower, not a stone

Soft and fragrant color, on a warm and sunny day

Evergreen needles, aloof to the wind

As leafy trees rashly shed their clothes

Naked trunks showing through forest thinned

By cold autumn wind that heedless blows

Clothing once dyed with orange and red

Drab, and in tatters, on forest floor

Blanketing now a hillside bed

Limbs gazing down on the clothes they once wore

Seasonal rite, without regret

Over onset of winter, relentless cold

With nothing but bark to protect, and yet

The dances of autumn never grow old

Some folks say that trees can sing

I've heard, my heart agrees

The chorus that the wild winds bring

A solo in the breeze

Their voice? The needles of the pines

A whoosh, and then a whish

Singers standing tall, in lines

As swaying branches swish

Some folks say that trees can dance

I saw two dance today

Wrapped round each other, tree romance

Two twisting trunks at play

Their tall and stately tango taught

By years spent in that pose

And all my little picture caught?

Dance shadows, I suppose

Some folks say that trees embrace

And sometimes even kiss

I saw two, standing face to face,

Caught up in woody bliss

Trunk to trunk, bark on bark

Unabashed and proud

In sunshine bright and nighttime dark

Kissing long, though not so, loud

And yet we think that trees were made

To cut, to burn, to split

Lumber, paper, fuel and shade

Consumption, is that it?

Think again, and look, and see

Them dance and kiss and sing!

Just standing there, alive and free

What happiness they bring!

I walked along the right-of-way and saw the work of men

The land was scarred, but I remembered how it once had been

Trees, and shrubs and flower carpets covering the ground

With wild bird songs coming from the hillsides all around

Now trucks and chainsaws, men, machines had cut down oaks and pines

And carved a road across the hills to work on power lines

But as I hiked along the road, some color caught my eye

Coming from some flowers gazing up at bright blue sky

Pretty, white, and perched upon a tiny little stem

Nestled in some weeds, a lovely Star of Bethlehem

And as I walked still farther there, beneath the power line,

Sweet fragrance drew me to a tangled Honeysuckle vine

Along a rocky stretch, I saw still more, as I looked down

A Golden Alexander with its jeweled, royal crown

Overhead and gleaming in the sun, the wire loomed

While there below, a single gnarled hillside Dogwood bloomed

And high above, a tower made of heavy rusted metal

But safe below, a Wild Geranium's lilac-colored petal

But my favorite discovery, beneath the powerline

Was a lovely thriving flock of bright red, wild Columbine

There is a price that we all pay to build the world of men

It's nice to know that life is strong, and springs back, even then

As I walked along, I'm glad that I looked down today

And saw the flowers growing there along the right-of-way!

Green, green, lovely green

Algae, moss, stems, and leaves

And fern fronds in between

Green, green, lovely green

Seeds, thorns, sepals, roots,

And parts of plants not seen

Green, green, lovely green

A quiet Kingdom, keeping rocks

And air, and water, clean

Green, green, lovely green

And ruled by Chlorophyll, a kind

And tiny little Queen

A funny, laughing tree-gnome

Stands buried, in the ground

Smiling in his forest home

But making not a sound

Buried right up to his chin

Mouth opened rather wide

Great big nose, long and thin

And beady eye, beside

His hair is straight, and long, and brown

Made of ancient bark

I wonder, when the sun goes down

What happens in the dark?

Perhaps he rises to his feet

Then standing, on his roots

Lets loose his booming voice to greet

The moon with howls and hoots

Then, once he's let the laughter out,

Sinks back into the ground

To wait once more, for sun, no doubt

Making not a sound...