He was an old man to us children
Long unkempt white hair
But brown wrinkled skin from hours
spent in wind rain and sun
He spent his time wandering the country paths
and woodland trails
Our parents said we should keep away
but we weren't scared
We found his home in the bushes overlooking
the road leading into town
A tatty threadbare tent just big enough for one
containing a couple of blankets and a well worn
army greatcoat
At school we used to have lessons about nature study
but that old man was better than any teacher I ever had
He would spend what seemed like hours
talking to us kids
Where honey came from, what wild plants were good to eat
and the ones to avoid
He knew the lives and habits of just about every wild
animal and bird
Then one day he was gone, we never did find out where
His tent and few bits were removed by the authorities
And within months that patch in the bushes had grown over.

I look back on those early years and wonder if it was that
old man who gave me my love of nature.

Suppose I caught
you one day
and gently kissed
the sole of your
tiny foot,
wouldn't you limp
a little then,
afraid to crush
my kiss?

  ~mce