We start along the footpath
weeds crowd our feet
a tender doe with limpid eyes
darts across our path..
summer heat laps our breath
and sweat runs salty trails
along our cheeks..
we follow the cool into the wood
as leaves nudge each other
in quiet murmurs to dancing birds
amongst silver branches
crying, one to another
in private conversation
In envy we listen, their
music ours
We long to flee,
just as they
to the highest branches.
Our hands entwine
a mirror of ivy climbing
the waist of solid trunks,
the ground meets our feet with soft reply
and scent of disturbed foilage.
We sit by the brook
her soothing tone lulls our souls
and we laugh as she moves untroubled.
