In the shelter of overhanging leaves,
On an Indian summer afternoon,
I walk along, where a flowing stream weaves
Through the woods, as I hum a buoyant tune.
On both sides, the path has been beaten down,
For many visitors have come this way,
Past trees of yellow, red and brown,
Evergreens, too, on this perfect fall day.
Chipmunks frolic with a rustling sound,
As dry, brittle leaves crunch beneath my feet.
From behind a shrub, I watch a doe bound,
And into the forest make her retreat.
The pleasant scent of pine is in the air,
With needles scattered all along my track.
Nature’s grandeur displayed everywhere;
But the time has come to make my way back.
© By RickMack (Rmrickmack@aol.com)