At Camp. A poem for Judy.

At Camp

The chill moon man runs late into morning

Sliding white light ineffectually

Off stage right smiling

Behind black oaks

Down the valley.

Late foxing investigates

Rabbit runs in the briers

Half watching early sparrows

Fluff the dust, drifting diffusing skyward

Through the dogwoods, root ratcheted in edging slopes

Down, down the valley.

A water spider singly sculls,

Separating mist curtains

On the river

Leap rocking, whisper singing

Off and away

Angling, singing,

Away through the valley.

God;

Watches, resting, pleased,

Dips His Psalm brush and lyrically paints,

The uprising short hills,

Dogwoods and black oaks.

Smiling, He goes

Down the valley.

For our friend Judy who has shown such love and hospitality to all.

All her life

Copyright Steve Bachman 2011