As I make my way along
the steeping path,
still sodden and slick
from an early morning rain,
I catch the scent of honeysuckle
and decayed leaves in the damp air.
I clamber over jutting rocks
and raised tree roots as the trail
plunges deep into the woods.
Bluebells and daffodils
stand in clumps among the trees,
their coloring a sharp contrast to
the newly budding oaks and hedges.
Just beyond the woods,
in the rocky crags of hills and river banks,
the crape myrtles cling to precipices,
their woody stalks thick with leaves,
but still bloomless in the early spring.
And further up the trail, where it forks
to climb up through the hills
and curve down towards the creek,
lavender blooms in a sweet perfume
while butterflies spread motley wings
on lilac branches. As the sun moves
higher in the sky and peaks above
wooded hills, I take the rock pathway
that dips towards the Willows that huddle
in groves along the muddy banks
of the river, that takes you past fields
of brown-spotted Guernsey
that don't move except
for the random sweep of tails,
and then back up to the bluebells
and daffodils of the shaded woods,
the curling honeysuckle and damp leaves
lining the steeping path from my door.