Bush Footpaths

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Like a Cathedral

This clean, muffled wood

Birding and tracking

Most often is good.

Not daring to speak now

My voice a trespass.

But whitethroats and bluejays

Perhaps let me pass.

I know there is custom

Some reverence to get

And sunlight now dappled

Through branches inlet.

Back at the shoreline

The boat dragged up high

Its noise a faint memory

As Bay winds draw nigh.

I know that First Nations

Claim first on this lot.

But kindly through nature

All this, have I got.

A long weekend's voyage

Through time and through scent.

No other place worthy

Of footsteps here spent.

Here passed in such hours

As deer might look on.

The rush of the City

Forgotten and gone.




cottage road near Bracebridge ON

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