A Humble Petition

Give me winter, for instance, 

when the chilling wind finally stills 

and frosty nights grip the hills of Georgia. 

Set me on a rustic path 

that winds beyond abandoned barns 

through broomsedge fields of tan and amber 

walking with my once-young family 

trailing happy farmhouse dogs 

to picnic on the distant ridge 

of weathered granite strewn with boulders, 

lichens, moss, and soft grass beds 

in the scent of a hidden cedar glade. 

Then ease me into early spring 

when bloodroot bloom by woodland streams 

and toads sing love from lowland swamps, 

or the day before the canopy closes 

when nature paints an Impressionist scene 

in tender greens and textures of red. 

Put me on a front porch swing 

where a ceiling fan slowly stirs 

another lush midsummer evening 

soaking my bones in moist heat 

and watching children chase fireflies 

as twilight sinks into night. 

Grant again a golden fall – the grace 

of richness tinged with a pensive mood 

when crickets turn a plaintive tune 

and a choir of blackbirds sings adieux. 

As hickories fling their dried-up leaves – 

the faith to fly with the freshening breeze. 

And when my seasons end at last 

as seasons will, I only ask a year’s reprieve 

to taste of life again, again. 

Bloodroot, Memorial Park. Image by Don Hunter

Bloodroot, Memorial Park. Image by Don Hunter