Another poem from me.

I Celebrate this Place


If you would find yourself, look to the land
you come from and to which you go.
            -Walt Whitman


Water moves slowly,
human eyes and the duck weed cannot sense its rhythm.
An alligator moves, making duck weed tracks,
brown water curving around stumps and cypress trees.


An gros bec, a great beaked-bird, swoops down on a dragonfly
feasting on mosquitoes,
its grayish brown feathers move silently through the heavy, hot air.


Cypress trees tower overhead,
a safe haven for birds, squirrels, and opossums,
their greenness turning
brown like slow cooked roux melting into the heat.


I celebrate this place,
the quiet peacefulness,
nature's respite from all things
modern or moving.


I celebrate this place,
the soft bird song,
the drab muted tones of nature,
the soft sticky smell of summer.


(From sometime in the early 90's)