There is no quick walk in the woods for me.

No brisk arm swinging march that rushes by.

Each moment some new wonders catch my eye;

I stand astonished, or on bended knee.

A sun pierced leaf, exquisite artistry,

Like stained glass shard flung from cathedral sky,

Or grounded oak leaf tucked in snow to die,

Its honest brown writ fine with filigree.

Some crystal clear and perfect curl of ice,

Or frost encrusted seed head hanging low,

On view to all who come, asking no price:

Such masterpiece should have a wider show

Though my admiration swells, it can't suffice.
I offer gratitude, and footsteps in the snow.