I sat up in my orchard, with cocoa cup in hand.
My husband and my youngest son were roaming nearby land.
The ‘Wees’ (those Tennessean pups) were running here and
there,
And Stevie-cat took swipes at them as they passed by his
chair.
The dew was heavy on the ground. The sun peeked over hill.
The trees—their colors riotous—gave eyes and soul a thrill.
My ears could hear the peaceful sounds of man and man-boy talk,
As they discussed the forest, on their early morning walk.
And as I smiled and listened to the puppies and the ‘boys’
I once again discovered how this farm has brought me joy.
With face upturned to feeble sun, I heard a quiet sound…
As leaf detached from maple branch and floated to the
ground.
How many places in this world can humans still discern
That sound—unique and beautiful—that happens when leaves
turn
From shades of green and emerald, which they’ve dressed in
since their birth—
To red and orange-- which they wear-- ‘til falling back to
earth?
Some things are worth protecting. Some things are just too rare
To justify complacency.
To say “I do not care.”
This part of Maine is quiet and there’s natural dark above.
To me, it’s worth an effort to safeguard what I love.
As someone who craves peacefulness—nonetheless, I found
That sometimes it’s essential to speak and stand your ground.
For ‘comfort zones’ exist, I think, for seeing if we dare
To step ‘outside’ and see just what we’ll do-- to prove we
care.
If I am not successful here, then soon will come the day
When trees with golden foliage cannot be heard to say,
“Alas, I’ve done my duty.
I’ve given it my best.
“I’m falling now—just listen! as I glide to earth to rest.”
