There are such places
I might stand

to muse on beauty,
life unplanned,

and witness districts
small or wide,

where all belongs
beyond divide.


The vistas glisten.
Earth inspires.

Horizons bathe me
in their fires,

and often I'm
reborn up there

on mountaintops,
the open air.


I'll glimpse an eagle,
hawk, or crow

(which one it could be,
I don't know):

it soars and circles,
tilts, and fades

through cyan skies
as light cascades

while forests slip
from morning mist,

revealing what
worn eyes have missed

when farms and harvests,
cows and deer,

stand closer than
they first appear.


I'll go, return,
and work for days,

renewed, attuned
to life's own ways:

the gentle grandeur
of the green,

how flowers reach
and maples lean

by hillsides dipping
down to roll

without resistance,
fear, control,

and clouds that cluster,
bust, and fade

beside the corn
before the glade.


I pray you find
a spot as sweet

to meditate,
feel more complete,

then breathe until
you decompress

and savor nature,
free of stress

--how nature, I think,
means to be:

above contrivance,
ample, free,

instinctive, true,
serene though bold

with endless wonders
to behold.