The Grove


I find the opening in the fence

And step in with bare feet,

Feeling the chilled, damp dirt beneath me.

I crush the dark mulberries

That cover the ground

And leave footprints where I wander.

The first time I came here,

I found so many things to love about it.


There were obvious things

To love right away.

Like the quiet chaos of it all.

I noticed many things.

Like the squirrels zigzagging through the trees,

The baby animals directionless

And wandering with caution,

The fallen trees with

Mushrooms growing off of them,

Every time I came here,

I found even more things to love.


In June, I found endless caterpillars,

Fuzzy, black and brown, and inching.

In July I found the perfect place for a fort,

It had evident potential.

In early August I wandered

To the edges of the grove.

I found the open field that I passed so often,

And saw where the deer entered the cozy little grove.


I used to find myself here so often.

Peacefully coexisting with nature,

I could stay under the leafy canopy forever.

Every time I go there,

I remember all of the things I love about it.



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