Hills of Pine and Oak

Hills of pine and oak
stretch before you,
dun, golden and green,
the colors of a hillside
in autumn.

A lake is visible
below you,
in the valley.
reflections of clouds
move in its stillness.

There are houses
but not many,
most things here are
trees, water,
blue sky and birdsong.

Sit here
and let the cool,
fresh, pine-scented
air fill your lungs

as the sky
fills your eyes
and the land
fills your heart

and your blood
and the tree sap
and the streams
running through it all

pulse
with the same
bright, simple
joy
of living.

This poem was inspired by the ever-reflective Loch Voil in Scotland.

Autumn Girl

The woman in the
paper cup
looked up.

Her still brown
eye met mine
the other too
bright
gazed past
at the star
swirling night.

She smiled so I
whispered slow
‘who will I
be, where will I
go?’

My coffee cold
turned black to gold
to show a girl
under a bejeweled
tree with falling
red and amber leaves.

‘Not spring, where
new hope sings?’

One eye dimmed
her voice a
cosmic wind
‘In the endless flight
of a brilliant
leaf just before
winter’s night.’

‘Not summer in
radiant heat?’

‘No’ the light
in her eye
glinted deep.
‘But not in
winter’s sleep.’

With this thought
to keep, the coffee
took her black
and deep.

I left the cup
I had drunk too much.

Now I know
I’m falling slow
the afternoon light
kissing through trees
has never moved me
with such
beauty.