Beneath the Boughs
I took a seat upon a lonely park bench,
Beneath a large shading tree, full with leaves.
I sat down to rest myself, to refresh myself,
To decompress in the quietness of the scene,
To bask in the beauty and landscape,
To take it all in, and to breathe.
My shirt that day—a light aquatic blue,
Reflective, subdued—like a mood made of water.
Wrinkled slightly from the wear of the day,
Visually flowing, in an imaginary way.
I was calmed and calming.
The beauty of nature absorbing in.
I felt at one with it all—with every plant,
Every creature, every sound.
I smiled to myself, and also to the world.
A bird, high up in the tree, espied me—
Or if not me, the colors of me:
The top of my head, the blue of my shirt—
And it envisioned a scene:
Below it, a stream.
And it pooped on my shoulder,
And onto my shirt.
The aquatic blue,
Perhaps not the best choice
To wear out into nature.
And for sure, not to be,
To be, ever, under a tree.
So next time you seek peace beneath leafy boughs,
Beware what beauty may misinterpret you as.
For colors are of nature, not just how you are clad.
Copyright June 2025 M. W. Van Dyke
All Rights Reserved
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