Deerfield’s Words
Click for meditationRegarding "Deerfield’s Words"
I love being in the
Woods, and I absolutely love
Looking for a stone wall
With a comfortable combination
Of rocks for my back
To lean against. My eyes
Have grown accustomed to
Quickly scanning the
Exterior facade of stone
Walls, and then zeroing in on
A section which looks
To be a good candidate
To sit on the ground
And nestle against.
The goal always is to
Blend into the wall as
Much as possible, and to
Become synonymous with the
Woods surrounding me.
On first impression, the woods
And wall may seem quiet
And still, but there is,
In fact, much to consider –
From how the light
Breaks through the trees,
The wind ruffles the
Autumn leaves, the spider
Crawls curiously on my
Shoulder, the chipmunk
Puffs up its brave
Chest and flexes its
Muscles, the chickadees
Stop by and occasionally brush
My cheek, the ever-present
Raven circles above,
The jay calls in the
Distance in annoyance
At something, and the
Eight Inch spruce sparkles
In newborn green…
All while I keep slightly
Shifting my position
And invariably manage
To fall asleep, and
During which the stone
Wall stoically ponders and
Wonders about me,
And the trunks of the
Trees in amazement
Peer over in strength, and
Shake their heads
At the degree of my
Weakness…
Leo Carroll
March 15, 2019
Searching for a Spot along an Old Stone Wall
I search, looking
For those perfect stones, as if
Made from a shop press,
Against which my
Back to lean, my body
To conform. I
Follow this wall, and
It keeps me on a
Heading east-west,
As if a farm horse by
The bridle, being led home
To its night’s rest…
And then through
The oaks and beeches
I see them — grey, rough
Stones, mottled in
Shades of black
And green lichen —
The sweet, autumn
Fruit of some
Builder’s tireless,
Calloused work,
Against which I’ll
Nestle, until is
Whispered what
Comes to be heard.
In the Woods against a Stone Wall
They sit as they’ve
Always sat – these woods as if
Jewels, as if decreed by
Primeval fiat. Oak and spruce
Stoically watch me in my
Every move and mood,
Content to leave me quiet if
I promise their wooden
Fiefdom not to disturb nor
Intrude. They watch
Me, reading my flesh’s
Mind and its flight, and
Then shake their heads slowly,
Because they know I
Have not yet mastered the
Fine art of sitting in a
Stone wall’s silence.