There's a special place
I go to in the Blue Ridge,
it's a smidgen west from Ranger,
part of the Hiwasse flow.
I sit there comfortably alone,
next to a babbling brook,
surrounded by laurel & dogwoods,
where busy bumble bees don't tumble,
they buzz right on by with the wasps.
The foxes think their sneaky,
but I see them peaking
from behind their den
& at night,
the cicadas sing
to the circling stars.
That's when I commune,
I whisper to the wood spirits.
It's magical
you know.