The Oak Trail
The walk to the Overlook is two miles.
I always take the Oak Trail.
I hold my journal close,
remembering someone's words,
"Hold things dearest to you
close to your heart."
Butterweeds, primrose willow,
tread-softlies and moonflowers,
scampering squirrels, monarchs,
swallowtails and sulphurs.
'Gators peek from swampy waters.
I remember my motherís instructions:
"Ignore them. They only attack
when they feel threatened."
"Not unlike humans...", I think.
Reaching the Overlook, I stand silent.
The waters mirror graceful moorehens,
ducks and iridescent grackles.
Sawgrass Lake, centuries old,
growing smaller with each decade.
The trees are slowly disappearing.
My mothers voice again, "The ax forgets,
but the tree remembers."
"Like a tree planted by the water,
I shall not be moved."
God is in this place.
And so I begin the journey back,
two miles of nature.
Do raccoons smile? Do squirrels say goodbye?
Do birds cry?
The carillon from the Presbyterian Church
is pealing, "This is my Fatherís world."
Listening, I find the trail home.
Two miles of heaven
to last me until tomorrow.