Walking slowly through a forest,
falling autumn color leaves.
Sunset sliding golden rivers through the shadows of the trees.
Gray-backed squirrel runs to safety,
scared to see you walking by.
Blackbirds sing to one another,
their voices mingle and harmonize.
And sitting by the oak tree roots that thread into the stony ground.
And in the gathering evening twilight,
listen for the lonely sound.
Like tissue paper in your hand,
the wind that shakes the falling leaves
lay down to earth to land upon a golden sea.
Fill
your pockets full with pine cones,
scattered on the emerald grass.
And the bits of bark to draw,
and acorn cups and leaves to press.
Paint the sunset splashing crimson on the purple velvet sky.
Play the tunes the sparrows sing,
and watch the clouds go floating by.
Thoughts go drifting through the trees,
through slanting beams of dying sun.
Play shadow games upon the grass,
and see the little creatures come.
They'll gather round and watch your hands,
draw silhouettes all on the ground.
And hurry home and tell their friends
of where they went and what they found.