Nature is the thick blanket of fog, shrouding
the murky water on a chilled morning.
The blanket is tossed aside, by the buzzing
of the worker bees,
as the day’s endeavors are greeted by the glare
of the dawn’s sun.
I wonder what the day will have in store.

Nature is the creaking of the oak trees,
the fortress surrounding me.
The fortress wages war against time,
its inhabitants changing,
from hour to hour, day to day, year to year,
from century to century.
I wonder what secrets lie within.

Nature is the muddy shores and dewy grass
on the shoreline.
Trekking barefoot through the mud,
I embark on a journey, surrounded
by the viscous liquid.
I wonder how the travelers before me
handled the mud.

Nature is the distant loon calls, filling the
eerie wilderness with rhythm.
The constant presence of another life
keeps me company,
as the shoreline fades into the horizon.
I wonder who the loon calls for.

Nature is the mist on the lake, as my paddle
slices the water.
The constant evolution of my surroundings,
from the stealthy doe, to the busy beavers,
linking the past to the present.
I wonder what the day will have in store.