Grasmere

Wrapped in mist like a faded watercolor cloak,
The hills rise from the lakeside, dreamily timeless.
Earliest fall hues brush the leaf tips here and there,
The colors at once subtle yet brilliant,
And I will myself to remember every nuance,
Even those - especially those - that the camera will never capture.

The day unformed, the possibilities unlimited,
Moment by moment, the evolving light teases and beckons.
The autumn air is crisp and freshened by the night's rainfall.
It invigorates the body and the soul.
What simple, honest pleasure to walk among nature's glory,
To feel muscle and bone collaborate, lungs work, senses alive.

Many other feet have walked this way before mine,
Some, like mine, in idle wandering, many more in purposeful pursuit.
In distant times we call simpler, leading lives we can scarcely imagine.
A centuries-old dry stone wall continues its slow crumbling, tumbling earthward
At a pace only the hills can measure,
Swallowed by thick emerald moss, by decay, and by time.

© 2012 by Gloria Garrett Schofield