when nature presents herself, naked and unafraid, in the cool winds of a lingering winter…the quiet in the woods sinks down into the very dust, and i am left with more wondering than wandering to do. she is brazen, but somewhat sleepy. she has not heard the call to awaken fully, and so it is with a tender shoot under pecan-dust smelling leaves that i find her heartbeat, and sit near that heart on a log overlooking a deep ravine.
she waits for her Master…her small streams trickling with the energy of a hibernating bear. she sounds…tentative…her bird alarms more croaking than frightening, her branches scratching each other so quietly, one could doze off in a deep sleep and wake hours later.
but as i rest against a tree…the sun rays beat dreamily on open trail and i feel an upwind warmth invade the vale. the baked cool ground is warming, and i must be off, for spring is calling…calling me home.
The Lost Kerryman 
2 responses to “Coming Home”
I like the images your words impart to us. I love the idea of Spring ‘calling you home!’ This was very lovely! Thanks for the nature poetry in prose. Robin
Boy oh boy, you painted us a fantastic word picture on this one! I love your imagery. This line is exquisite: “so it is with a tender shoot under pecan-dust smelling leaves that i find her heartbeat, and sit near that heart on a log overlooking a deep ravine.”