The moment boots imprinted soil,
the scent of bark and undergrowth
embraced us. We brushed past
rusty ferns and sodden grass,
and acres of trees exhaled
into fragments of sky and cloud,
a sigh that hugged our lungs
and filled them with a woody song.
Pinecones on the path, like Hansel
and Gretel crumbs, paved the way
into darkness, away from the day,
the only sounds the crunch of feet
on twigs and stones, the sough
of wind and intermittent bird chatter.
Flanked by sturdy trunks and limbs,
the everyday no longer mattered:
no cars, no news, no electricity,
just the deep woods, inhabited,
for the duration of a walk,
by wise old trees, and you and me.
Kim M. Russell, 12th January 2020
The first quick draft of a poem about last Sunday’s walk in the woods. I’m hoping we might make it to the beach today.