penniac
pine trees touched by the winds elusive whisper
as gnarled branches stretch for a desperate grasp
a glimpse of motion for the motionless
an ethereal backdrop to a sun glistened river
swollen with the springs runoff
sun dapples the moss on which i sit
bird song heard at a tantalizing distance
and i sit peaceful in the penniac woods
respite for my weary mind
the sun warms the winter’s ache in my breast
while a river’s breadth away lies highway 8
its asphalt beckoning my feet
and i know i will answer the call
but not today
today i rest on sun dappled moss
filled with anticipation
© Michael MacKinnon, 04/28/2007