Trails

When I was a very little girl my family went on a picnic at a huge park
There were magical, winding trails that led you by tiny cabins and fairies
It was a charmed and make-believe world and I was totally captivated
There were places where the signs said to tiptoe and I found it easy to obey
My parents must have let me go off alone, which meant it was not far from them
But I felt all alone in the universe and enthralled beyond words, I needed none.

At a bend I was tiptoeing, having read the sign, and then glanced up at a house
The lady who lived there was looking out the window and smiling at me
Years later I had to think that I was likely a cute little sight, brown ringlets
Elated grin, eyes alight with enjoyment, unfettered glee in just “being”
I was surprised to find someone actually living in this enchanted forest
But it did not spoil my fascination with the fairies and the imps and squirrels.

Years later, I realize that I was born with this utter love for trails, forests
Any pathway, for me is and forever will be irresistible, enticing, necessary
I must ramble along it and find where it goes, what surprise is beyond…
Around the next curve there may be a bubbling spring or a tiny bridge
A doe or a buck or a fawn perched and ready to run, hesitating then
Because they feel no danger from me, only my utter love and delight
With the ways of the forest and of the animals who make their home
Amongst the kind, leaning trees that seem to whisper of magic.

cailin raine