Out of the woods , by Gordon Edwards
Out of the Woods
Gordon Edwards
Out of the woods
the trail turns,
the field rises
verdant,
dormant grass
now impetuous,
wet with morning drizzle;
the path narrows,
a bevy of birds
an urgent chorus,
moisture seeps
thru the eyelets
of my shoes
My socks are damp,
the bottom of my jeans
capillaries,
the bark on my
walking stick
peeling away,
a dry stream bed now
gargles;
all is naked,
insistent;
I float
thru morning,
become a lifting fog
Nigel Borrington 
You must be logged in to post a comment.