Along the path

Even though some of the grass
is already taller than me
the young oaks finally rise above
with just enough form
to anticipate future magnificence.

And the wild pink roses wind upward
in search of sunlight
as they splendidly frame
the irresistible eyes
of the deer.

The water forms the heart
of this intricate dance
where the blue heron hides
in the dark reeds
that flank the damp edges.

Where minute bubbles
create perfect
radiant circles
that delicately reveal
the life underneath.

Where the soaring eagle
with a flick of its wings
abandons the majesty of the sky
to become a fierce and deadly king
crashing down to take its meal. 

Where the beautiful black feather
yet remains
to be found by another
and purple clover
still tastes like honey.