Forest Guardians
by Patricia Cummings
Silent sentinels of the dawn
the Firs in misty quiet stand,
surveying the lake’s vapors rising.
Their silhouettes salute the not-so-distant shore
in the early morning dew,
as the crow flies and caws, unfettered by man.
This poem was written while traveling south from St. John, Canada in 2006, on our way home to New Hampshire. In the early morning fog, the regal Fir trees in all their splendor, along waterways did remind me of sentinels. I can still smell the pleasant, aromatic Balsam firs that reminded us so of Christmas, and seeing the lone Heron fishing on the shores of the Bay of Fundy. Below, another Heron in Vermont, fishing in a river.
The sights and sounds of the North Country reside in one’s heart, once experienced. The eagle in the rain, hunkered down, on the beach, only to soar out of sight, minutes later … the moose crossing a field … these are scenes I like to ponder. Just me and my chosen lifelong companion, my best friend, taking this all in. Yes, I want to remember … good times, like these.
For more poetry see: http://www.quiltersmuse.com/poems_by_Patricia_Cummings.htm
