Walking in the Wood
Walking in the wood this morning
as the sun painted the sky,
I looked, listened to
Life being reborn.
Buds were bursting and clapping hands,
little timpani filling the air.
The reeds around the pond would not be outdone,
they rustled delighted
Brushes on drums.
Birds, I love them, took centre stage
with a full choir singing praise;
to life, to heavens, to all.
I saw ants building nests,
very busy they were.
Even wasps droned drunkenly around
finding a flower or two.
I sat down on a stone and dare swear,
the air did also sing
as it gently nourished my skin.
© miriam ivarson