No Footfalls Here in the Forest...

Babbling Brook,

what have you  learned,

prattling on,

whirlpools and eddies,

over slippery rock

you must go steady

that is why

always the staff or stick

but still

as always

one must be quick;

a Fool falls in Forest

and all the animals hear him

and bray his name...

 

Forest floor,

the musty, musky odor I adore;

to pick away the moist leaves

to the black Earth beneath

the tiny beads,

so delicate
as to wipe away,

clean in your hands...

 

Moss and Lichen,

now ever-present Green,

an insistent color

it would seem

yet it never looks lost

or misplaced;

therein lies the Lesson

if I am guessing correctly...

Dec. 28, 2015