Black Moshannon State Park.-(Pennsylvania's Best.)

In the balmy bliss

of an August dusk,

I sit and ponder

my blessings granted

as a lovely tangerine

glow is squeezed

from the last quarter

of a very fruitful day.

All around me

creatures ready

themselves,

for the long nights

rest ahead.

Birds puff up

their feathered coats

and nestle in the

Y's of budding limbs.

Chipmunks disappear

into tiny caves of dirt,

in brown, and

white streaks.

Brown rabbits

chew contentedly 

in the tall grass

of my pasture

on a late night

snack of greens,

hidden from 

predators above.

Crickets scratch

out hip-hop rhythms

as earthworms

slither out to bask

in the steamy asphalt

warmth of my drive.

A stray cat scuttles

through my hedges,

his whiskered face

betraying disappointment

at his hunger denied

by a fleet winged

robin's escape.

There is poetry

inscribed

in the very air

around me,

nature is the

ultimate muse,

and my pencil sorely

lacks in comparision 

any scribbled brilliance 

to match the incredible 

gifts that the world 

grants me here 

So I close my

latest chapbook

where all my thoughts 

are extended and catalogued

in one of my many

pals for years,

and I go to  answer the

the call of my pillow,

where the last part

of any alphabet

I'll be writing tonight,

will simply be 

"ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzz"