As I walked through the wood, on a bright, autumn day,
I was dwarfed by the trees that were lining my way.
In amongst all the broad-leaved, with branches half-bare,
We’re the conifers dotted about here and there.
A few broken off branches lay scattered around
And I ploughed through the debris that littered the ground:
There were pine-needles, conkers and moss-covered stones;
Lots of beech-mast and leaf-mould and squirrel-chewed cones.
There were sycamore keys and a spread of acorns
And a tangle of brambles with menacing thorns.
I was choosing my path and avoiding tree roots
As they all seemed determined to ambush my boots.
With the feel of the breeze in a small, open glade
And the dank smell of bracken in sun-dappled shade,
A small rabbit caught sight of me trudging on by
And was suddenly gone in the wink of an eye.
I saw squirrels cavorting with consummate ease
While the birds chirped and cawed in the tops of the trees.
I was filled with delight at each sight, smell and sound.
They were all just for me, with no others around.
Near the edge of the wood, it was both dark and bright
Where the trees broke the rays of the low-angled light.
Then I came to a stile where I stopped and just stood
And I savoured the joy of that walk in the wood.