Crossing the Glen

A cannonade of color as I cross Coshocton Glen,
A fusillade of fiery reds, the fluttering of wrens.
Gray squirrel’s cheery chatter, a flash of fox’s tail,
And swiftly at the sight of me, they’re off across the swale.

A wily weasel watches as the chipmunk leaves its hole,
A tasty, tantalizing treat, he pauses on the knoll.
With flash of streamlined fur and a frantic chirping sound,
They're racing, chasing everywhere, going round and round.

A young deer dashes through the woods, then bursts into the clear,
Intruding hunter, gun in hand, has filled the buck with fear.
Across the clearing, bounding high, he flees impending doom,
The sunlight glints upon the steel, and then a fearsome boom.

I thank the Lord the shot has missed, the deer now gone from sight,
One hunter turns and heads t'ward home, no venison tonight.
His mission foiled, the deer alive, I wish it could have stayed
Amidst the multi-colored trees in this autumnal glade.

The echo of the shot long gone, the air is crisp and still,
I marvel at the beauty here and know I always will.
Coshocton Glen once more at peace, the colors seem to say
Come here and share this lair with me, come here and spend the day.

This pleasant thought invades my brain and binds me to this place,
So, turning now I see the woods, the sunlight on my face.
The fiery colors fill my soul, my joy is unrestrained,
Rich blessings for my tainted life is what, today, I’ve gained.

With deep regret I leave the glen as evening shadows fall.
When overwhelmed with daily life, I pray I may recall
This special day with deer and fox and autumn’s golden hues,
And all those won'drous memories I hope I never lose.