Harbor of the Nightingale


Purple mountains in the distance
rising pale above the hills
just before the sun goes setting
far beyond the rustic rills.

Eagles fly so high above them
blending with the twilight sky.
Do the mountains know my feelings,
when I laugh or when I cry?

When the morning rests in sunshine,
sparkling on the mountainside
and fog fingers from the mountain
wipe the eyes where tears have dried,

then I see the purple splendor
splashing on the mountain veil
and watch the mists of mystery
hide the baby nightingale.

© 2015 Freeda Baker Nichols

Mist Hides the Mountains – Day 16-


A mist hides the mountains
beyond the river scene.
Little Johnny Jump-ups
fading now among the green.
Springtime in the Ozarks
where it’s really not a joke
that woodpeckers jackhammer
on a tall dead white oak.
The fern stems are beginning
to sprout into a frond
as little frogs go hopping
on the bank of the pond.

Copyright, 2013, Freeda Baker Nichols

My Ozarks’ Heritage

In Arkansas,  the Ozarks Mountains rise
in rugged rows of hills, tree-lined and steep
where redbirds flit beneath crisp autumn skies
and sugar maples roots run dense and deep.

And here we mountaineers are always free
to pass our heritage down to our child.
Black bear and white-tail deer near post oak tree
are sights we often see in forest wild.

Fog fingers hide green valleys on wet days
when Arkansas awaits the sun to shine;
my home–a rustic cabin wrapped in leis
of pink azaleas sparkling like grape wine.

A welcome sound–a guitar by the stream
on nights when hounds forsake the Ozark trails
and sleep stretched out in bravo just to dream
the hot pursuit of foxes with red tails.

I’m glad I said “I do” and settled down
to raise a precious, little family
close to Little Red River Valley town
where Banner Mountain keeps on calling me!

c Copyright 2012, Freeda Baker Nichols