When chilled creek water soaks mysocks
And coats my shoes with wet specks of dirt,
My foot cannot grip theslimy underwater rocks,
Causing it to lurch into a crack
And to twist myankle in an awkward way.
I restep with some anxiety
As my eyes lift to thesky and squint from the sun.
The thick, fat Kentucky heat is
Wrapping me ina sweaty, sleepy blanket.
Still, my toes are cold and moist
As I continueforward, up the creek.
Mom carries the video camera and
Jim holds hiscrayfish net,
Squatting each moment to capture a creature
And humanely letit go.
The shadowy floor of the woods
Is layered above with nature -motionless trees and bushes.
The blazing sun permeates the air
And causes alazy serenity among all things -
Animals, plants, rocks, water, earth andme.
I smile; the storybook babbling brook is
Surrounded by tiny, swarminggnats
Floating above the tall, yellow-dry grasses
That scratch mylegs.
We own this land.
Acres of thick, beautiful green,
Of bugs, ofbirds, of heat,
Of dried, crackling sticks,
Of a Pure Seclusion worthadmiring.
We have come to explore, like Cartier,
Who announced that a spotis named Montreal
And who called it his spot.
Do we own this MountRoyal?
A piece of legal paper says so, and a check proves it.
But ask anysquirrel on this land who he belongs to.
He neither knows nor cares.
Here,the soft creature grasps his acorn defensively
And twitchessilently.
Within this Pure Seclusion
Worth admiring
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