Button bush, wild blueberries, a blue feather and dewy grapevine – the splendor of these summer days, walks in woods, it's hot and still, we're happy to stride under the sky, under the soft cover of leaves on the hardwoods. Another forest floor poem, I think, is working in me: because, in summer, it was a centering, entertaining place to be, bare knees pressed into the rusty pine needles with my sisters. This morning, as I walked near the end of my walk, I was aware of the smell of heating needles rising from the rusty ones beneath my feet. Yes, yes, this is how it felt: the ease and freedom of play on the floor under the huge magnificence of the old old pines as the sun warmed them and into a sweet scent rising up into the noses of our memories.

All photos and text ©Kelly DuMar 2018