The Boreal Chaparral

Peregrinating through the chaparral
Where the sunbeams sift down through,
Appliquéing lacy patterns
On dead leaves of brownish hue-

Is a past time full of magic,
A refreshing scenic spree,
Where some zestful observation
Holds the mystifying key.

The squirrels jump through the tree tops,
The rabbits scamper round,
The striped little chipmunks
Scurry frightened on the ground.

Tiny toadstools spring up quickly
Where the grapevines intertwine,
And the elders grow entangled
Mid each twisted twining vine.

A trickling brook winds down the hill
To join the pond below,
Were muskrats dig out orifices
To safely come and go.

The disintegrating branches
Lend a modernist air,
Grotesquely in weird fantasy
All lying every where.

To curiously stroll in dalliance,
Builds a treasure house of lore.
You become a lone caretaker
Of the things you choose to store.

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