FOLLOWING THE MOUNTAIN STREAM

So lovely is the mountain stream
as it winds its way through evergreens.
I hiked along its mossy bank
to where the deer came down and drank.
They’d left their footprints in the mud.
It’s summer and the wild rosebuds
attract the bees and butterflies
that zigzag beneath the azure skies.

I’d made no plans where I was going,
just down the road, across the mowing
to follow the stream as far as I could
where it meanders through the woods.
Since I chose to use this day for hiking,
to follow the stream seemed to my liking.

Along the stream I met a man.
He held a fish pole in his hand
and had his little boy with him.
The boy looked at me with a grin.
He said, “I caught a fish. It fell back in.
I think it was a whoppin’ trout.
It was this big, or just about,”
the boy explained with arms stretched out.
The father chuckled and I smiled;
he fish-taled well for just a child.
For awhile we passed the time of day
then I went hiking on my way.

The birds were singing in the trees.
Sunlight filtered through the leaves.
As I hiked toward the sugar bush
some chukkar partridge I ambushed
fluttered loudly from the brush
and gave my heart a thumping rush.
Blue jays complained I had trespassed
as through a hemlock stand I passed;
then near the pond among the spruce,
such luck, I chanced to watch a moose.
He’s huge, and so I skirted silent ‘round,
to not disturb or make a sound
and let that fellow dine in peace.
It seemed he had not noticed me.

I sat awhile upon the rocks
and watched a family of young fox.
There seemed no better place to stop
since I had reached the mountaintop,
to me an ideal place to tarry
since I’d found a batch of wild blueberries,
now ripe and juicy, tender sweet.
They tasted good, my berry treat,
and I ate some while I stopped and rested
as a blue jay squawked, screamed and protested
my presence in his claimed domain
but I stayed there just the same.

From tree to tree he cried out, “Thief,”
and then flew off to my relief.
He’s a handsome fellow with too much chatter,
though I guess it didn’t really matter
since it didn’t phase the two chipmunks
with whom I tried to share my lunch,
tried to tempt them with my “Snickers” bar.
They skittered off, but not too far,
to hide beneath a rock outcrop
then peek out chatting chipmunk talk,
flick their tails, watch me and chatter.
I answered them as though it mattered.

Two gray squirrels joined in their foray.
I watched them in an oak tree play
their games of tag and hide and seek
and from behind the branches peek.
They’d scoot and skitter, dash and dart
and in my game they played their part
by snitching trail mix, nuts and fruit
to carry off to wall and root,
and hide for winter, I suppose,
though their purpose I don’t really know
but I think they thought it quite the trick,
snitching treats among leaves and sticks
where I had tossed them purposely.
Who knows what they really believed.
It doesn’t matter. I was having fun.
I had enough so I shared some.
They made me laugh and made me smile.
I watched them there for quite awhile
just sitting on that mountain high,
just me and nature, earth and sky.

So perfect has been this mountain scene,
the sugar bush, the evergreens,
with Mother Nature’s children spend some time,
the day, whole day had been real fine;
the giggling, murmuring, gurgling stream,
to sit awhile and just daydream
here among the tranquil woods
but night is coming and I should
go down the trail back to the mowing.
I returned as sunset started glowing,
back to the road that leads to home.
I’d had a perfect day to roam.

I love hiking ‘round the woodlands
and my day had been just grand
letting my feet just go their way
as I followed them around all day,
following the mountains stream
through hardwood and the evergreens,
hiking to the mountain top
and somehow it seemed to help a lot;
my one day, mini-style vacation,
a man and earth type celebration
to get away from hum-drum living
where day on day seem unforgiving,
where I’m caught up in the daily grind.
Today I left it all behind
and enjoyed the precious gift of time,
cleared some cobwebs from my mind.
I’d made no plans where I was going,
just down the road, across the mowing
to follow the stream as far as I could
where it meanders through the woods.
It had been a perfect day to roam,
but now I had to get on home.

Annette Bromley