Photo by Lauren York on Unsplash

There is a drape of summer fog around and
over asparagus ferns, turning them
silver white, and the grasses around
are hung with dew.
This morning walk around
the yard becomes a few moments
of return to the world of field and tree
that was my childhood savior.

From the ferny patch I walk into the shade
of the trees at the edge of the yard,
ignoring chain fence just beyond my path.
Shade and deep glade claim a few steps
and as though in the midst of ancient woods
I wandered as a child, my chest tingles
with the thrill of wondering
what small world lives
just beyond my senses.
I feel the same clutch of breath when a
leaf by my feet twitches in this still air.

Within a few feet, the path curves and turns back
upon itself and I can pause in sun-dappled woods.
My miniature adventure goes on.
A grape vine that I had
not noticed before is slung
in luxurious swoop and cling
among thin trees, lending broad leaves
to fill their skimpy branches.

Now I step through the meadow,
which is a patch of grassy seed heads and
yellow daisies.
I’m back to mowed grass, and
Saturday morning chores and it’s okay.

September 2009