Categories
Nature Photography Nature Poetry

A Christmas Reflection

Against cutting cold through my parkas fold,
I moved toward the mountain’s peak,
Walking the trail through snow and hail,
Finally, I was closing in.

I reached the top,
And came to a stop,
Above the world, it seemed,
Waves of clouds flowed over the snow-covered trees.

The fading light was magic to the soul,
Pinks and blues, and all manner of warm hues,
As the snow gently fell.

The last sliver of light,
Gave way to night,
And that mountain held me like a spell.

Then a star shining near and far,
Burned through the snow and fog,
It settled there, and I couldn’t help but stare,
As the night rolled on.

Finally, I began my descent from this place of yore,
Thinking of wonders and praise,
And I watched light burn through the dark of night,
As it has for many days.

Categories
Nature Photography Nature Poetry

A Morning Walk

The gentle morning breeze ruffled the tops of the barren trees,
Cold Winter air filled the sky,
But on this day, life was filled with a sort of ease,
On I marched, crunching through leaves and letting out a gentle sigh.

I reached the end of the path,
And went to turn back,
Then out of the blue shot a goose filled with turbid wrath,
He wailed at me for what seemed a day and compassion he seemed to lack.

My gentle ease from the winter breeze was gone in a flash,
Knowing full well the nipping I was in for; I took off in a dash,
Amid my jaunt, I lost an icy step and fell into the lake with a splash.

I swam to the shore; the beast was gone,
And I let out a much-needed laugh,
The sun began to rise, and I delighted in the sight of the dawn,
I watched the pink hue from the newborn sun and forgot all about my gaffe,
Nature in her beauty even graced me with the presence of a floating swan,
Finally, I began my way back heart filled but body in much need of a bath.

Categories
Nature Photography Nature Poetry

A Winters Tale

It was a cold winters day,
The mist rolled in, and fog ran away,
And I saw Oak branches sway,
And longed for the beauty of May.

I sat reclined on a log,
Thinking nothing of life’s tenuous slog,
Believing nothing would change as I looked across the bog.

Then a bolt of lightning struck,
I hid, hoping I had not run out of luck,
Then I fell headfirst into the muck.

Despite the cool mud easing the sting of the fall,
And having no injury other than my pride (and maybe my hide) I could recall,
I rose from the muck through it all.