The wicker basket catches lightly on an old, white birch tree
She spins, golden halo twirling after her in a million rays
Light catches her face as she stoops,
Gathering the crimson fruits that had fallen gently,
Chasing them with her slender fingers and they rolled
In lazy half-circles on the grass.
The dappled beams of sun dance about her brow,
Wrathing her in a crown of gold.
Life springs up under her footsteps as if thanking her for the touch.
The forest seems to breathe a sleepy sigh as she stands,
Slowly continues down the soft earthen path, humming a
Sweet tune of summer.
The busy drone of bees and the perfume of wild honeysuckle
Join her presence in the wood, permeating the air
With soft, jovial sounds of a warm afternoon.
In the distance, pheasants fuss quietly in the brush,
A fawn stands to lap gently at a cool, burbling brook.
All turn their head as she floats down the path,
Dropping sunshine wherever she steps.
The wood alights in gentle music as her warm figure
Shimmers through, fading out of sight,
Her glow hanging softly on the old, white birch trees.
