'Tis a misty day in the forest,
with occasional passing thunderings.
When I walk in the wood on a day such as this,
I walk gently with eyes on the ground.
a bit of bright orange,
tucked beneath green grass and clover.
I delight in purply outlines
and electric-orange spots
and tinier textures and dots...
and sweet little quadra-pod toes.
Further afield I went today -
to the river for stories and stones.
On my way I saw layers of greens,
and red-budding trees,
and a white-belted cow looking at me...
on break from trimming the grass.
Fog draped the farm....
and the top of a hill,
slow moving river -
all was quite still.
Back in the wood,
the sun danced
with the beech.
Drops collected on a leaf,
and a pink perfect wonder.
Cold winds and more thunder,
sent the cat to hunker down under.
I do wonder...
He'll come home dashing,
between thunder and flashing.
We'll curl by the fire,
(of this we never tire)
soggy, old cat.