Gary S. and Son

Poem and Photograph submitted and copyrighted © 2001 by Gary S.

It seemed so real,
the still spring air is cool and our spirits are soaring as the sleeping woods are awakening to a fresh spring.
We are wearing flannels and jeans and our pockets are stuffed with knit bags.
My son wander seemingly aimlessly from hillside to brook.
We notice the Red Bud and Dog Wood in bloom.
We stare at the fallen leaves and branches and our eyes became blurred with foliage as our minds think Morels.

Then comes the flurry of excuses,
the woods is just not ready yet or it was a dry winter you know.
My son would soon pick up a stick and launch it at a tree.
For a fleeting moment he was an Indian with a tomahawk and the tree a bear.
I would say that there is more woods to see, and he would sit on a log and say how about a shake and burger.
Suddenly like a bolt of lightening, the eye spots a morel and then another and the smell of morels.

The one tells the other
about what he sees and then says, it's not pretend.
We put our bags to use and fill our hearts.
Now look who is sitting on the log and who is saying Dad, It's not even ten o'clock yet.
I would not trade these walks in the woods for all the money in the world.

---- Gary S.