water's edge


Linger at the shore

Where colours collide with thirst;

Swallow Autumn whole

The Journey


Boulton Bridge trail forest

Sometimes the path I walk upon

is bathed in golden sun,

Meanders through bright meadows

Where pure streams of water run.

Sometimes a fog obscures the view,

And rocks and thorns prevail,

The gradient makes progress slow,

Or rings with rain and hail.

Both are crucial to my road,

Both must have their place –

To one, I owe refreshment,

The other, strength and grace.

So whether I am stepping light

Or struggling as I roam,

I know each bend and every climb

Will bring me closer home.

Breaking Through


Forest feels like second skin by now,

beam upon beam raised in self-defence.

Logging permits don’t pass easily –

deforestation is distinctly painful.

But when pines part,

oxygen stirs,

canopy is cut,

there You are,

breaking through boughs,

 illuminating dark and stained cells,

ushering in daylight

where angels feared to tread.

And as dead branches fall,

tentacles tremble in triumph;

sap stirs

and green grows

and oh, the grace

of breaking through…

Hopeful Shore


I stopped to rest in snowy wood,

where tree-nymphs at attention stood

to guard the Path that leads to Hope;

I pondered on that frigid slope

that moving feet must bend their will,

or stay in snowy forest still.

So trudging on, determined more,

I soon arrived at Hopeful Shore.


What path will your feet choose this day?

Forest Hovers


Forest hovers, dark and deep,

Canopy of scented leaves;

Overhead, the tree in sleep

Provides a roof with icy eaves.

Loathe to stir from homey den,

Heart clings tightly to this view;

Frosty boughs, in peaceful glen,

Bathed with heaven’s frosted dew.