I walked the woodlands,
my feet bare in August sun,
felt the moss beneath my toes,
watched the robin hop, then run.
Calm but wary, the small robin
stood in a military stance
as though he might be guarding
precious cargo with a glance.
I walked the woodlands on the mountain,
saw the wild geese in their flight,
heard cicadas calling cadence
when the sun slipped out of sight.
© Freeda Baker Nichols, all rights reserved