nearby traffic whizz, zoom, rumble
fading, replaced by the conversation of water and terrain
burnt light, giving way to pale sunflower and open water blue above
the beams dazzling, combining with crisp air, burning the nostrils, drawing tears protectively into the eyes
refracting rays exponentially
the smell of melting vanilla ice cream in the ponderosas
their bark rough and warm, catching our hands
t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-tap tap tap the woodpecker knocks
while chee chee and chickadeedeedee replies from other branches emerge
a bed of needles to lie in, a canopy of prickly green and sky above
gravity draws down,
down.
soft, firm earth below, still damp from winter snow
un-judging, constant, support.
I am not normally moved to writing poems and such, but in taking a slow walk in the woods the morning of the 50th anniversary of Earth Day, I felt ideas and words and sounds and smells all swirling in my consciousness at once, and with it a deep sense of appreciation. We can do better. Alex and I. You. Us. We have incredible gratitude for this planet that houses us, feeds us, gives us water and air and land on which to subsist in and play in. Thanks, Ma Earth. We’ll keep finding ways to do better by you.
Love, D(&D)