A Place To Rest

It's an venerable rough-hewn
timber bench welcoming
any who seek solitary peace 
in nature, sitting as it does
on the crest of a hill
overlooking a forest trail
in a ravine where approaching
spring has released a stream
from its frozen winter bondage.
There's a gusting, blustery
wind chilling the icy air
under a sky as pacific as the
ocean blue, the sun bright and
warm glittering on the ice
encrusted lacework of conifer
needles, and in the distance
we hear from our comfortable
perch on the old bench, the
chattering of chickadees
piercing the dull roar of the
wind in the forest canopy.