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On a deep cold winter's day
with January just begun
I step out of abode's front door
to greet the chilly rising sun
just as I did yesterday.
What might this day have in store?

The brushy hill that faces me
quivers in the northern breeze
and like the deep woods to my back
stands stark and bereft of all leaves,
bare bones revealed for all to see
from poplar's light gray to walnut black.

Beyond the hill a highway flows,
a stream that hardly ever ceases,
louder now with all leaves gone.
Soon they'll be reduced to moldy pieces
like under where the wild plum grows
toward which spotted fawns are drawn.

I now turn to walk down the steep hill
through oaks which know much than me
where I convince myself there is no noise
where I can pretend that of age I am free.
Soon I reach a favorite tiny rill
with mossy bank dark as turquoise.

Here traffic fades to a slight sound
low enough to be (almost) ignored.
This tiny paradise I often visit
when with people I've become bored;
to me an almost sacred ground
shared with too few people, I admit.

But as I find a seat upon a log
beside the clear and tiny spring
thoughts of "progress" fill my mind.
It can't be stopped by anything.
It grows like a late evening fog.
To old men's wishes it is blind.

I contemplate this spring as clear as glass
knowing this eden will one day pass.

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing stage: 


interesting, isn't it? I was scared of it, but you know took 10 minutes to get used to it.
I too have my favorite nature spot, a gift from the gods in the Arboretum of DC, 400 acres of botanical
paradise which I can pass days in and not see another person...a few fox, eagles, deer...5 minutes from home in the the busy capital.
But yes, I know too that I cannot spend forever in my daily visits to my private spots..something in life is always going to happen, this alone I know. My wife and I are considering some months in Africa to help in wildlife conservation, another pair eyes in the Savannah.
I like your poem, hey, I'm just like you. But not sure too many others on the site are so old (or lucky) to have no responsibility but how to pass the hours in nature.

I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings

I was beginning to think this must really stink due to it being posted so long without comment. But I just went on revising it just as if I was getting a bunch of feedback.
My piece of paradise is about 100 yards out my back door. I know I'm a lucky guy to have it and I also think everybody needs a place to unwind. I appreciate your dropping by.......stan

author comment

my Paradise is my room ..
at times more than frig cold

Despite my age you know
I am bold
nearing the estuary of my life
soon to merge with the ocean
surprisingly I have been saying it since seven decades

I walk still heaven knows
where is that Final paradise
no one knows

Yesterday a lady got up to move out to a sunnier place
tripped upon herself then and there
the ambulance came and took her away
her bones broke
but Paradise is still far way
docs did say
she will be back on her legs one day
strong knees they say
keep weight away
I bloat
and still Paradise about my eyes simply does float

Take care Stan
our poetic man
your knees must need to see more of Paradise than ye.
Be careful sit under an OAK tree
your fave one

A person's paradise can easily be in a meter area. Different people have different ideas of where to go to recharge. You be careful and don't trip on yourself.......stan

author comment

when I trip
I fall head on the ground
just look around
no help found
I get up silenced
having struck the ground

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