World Sublime

by Michele Fry © 1978

(On returning home from a quiet week in a primitive cabin at Sequoia National Park, to the shocking hustle, bustle and self-centeredness of city people . . . . . )

"Here I am", yelled the boy
as through the woods went he.

    Scent of pine, World sublime.
     Standing quietly.

"Hey, it's me.  Can't you see?"
he stomped along the path.

     A trickling brook.  A rippling breeze.
     A shady canopy.

Spat the water. Pluck the flower.
Snap the bower. "Whee!"

     Squirrels scamping.  Birds chirping.
     Doe behind a tree.

Eerie feeling. "No one's here!
No one's here but me."

     Cooling shower. Timid flower.
     Nestling chickadee.

"It's hot.  I'm bored!"
A'home away went he.

     Scent of pine. World sublime.
     Sighing sweet relief.