Of a hillside forested in birch;
But find myself in a marshy wetland,
Ground seldom dirt, mostly sand
And where the land changes
So does the scenery and vegetation:
Fewer willows and more evergreen,
Basswood, larch, birch to be seen
When the path goes from sand to soil.
The tiniest of purple flowers
Polka-dot the land in places.
Reeds and sedges fill the open spaces.
Canada geese take wing;
The redwing blackbirds sing.
I happen upon a pool with
Several fallen logs upon which
Upwards of two score turtles bask
Until I walk close by
Then they all dive
Into the safety of murky waters.
Spring peepers sing their chorus;
Bullfrogs croak along the shoreline.
Cranes circle overhead, trumpeting their cry.
Shot gun shell casings litter the ground;
Red, yellow, teal, even purple, abound.
I want for shade, as the day is hot,
But leaves are just budding, so shade is not
To be found upon the dusty, dry land,
And when I try to sit or even stand
For a short moment, ticks emerge
And crawl from my socks to exposed skin
Upon my legs seeking a place to dig in
And feast upon a meal of life-giving blood.
Dragonflies zoom around, also looking to feed
But not on me--I am not what they need.
But though it is early spring, insects are about.
Even the butterflies flutter
And a bumblebee buzzes.
This place did not have the hills I desired,
Yet still my walk has made me tired
And yet renewed and refreshed
And feeling wonderfully blessed
To be able to experience solitude
And yet I was not alone at all
But surrounded by life and the presence
Of the One who created it all.
