The Scenic Route

There is still a wintery bite
In the air but at least the sun
Is there, lazing in its afternoon height.
The day is calm, I've no desire to run,
So instead I'll tread the path, a start and stop,
A trivial job to get beans from the shop,
With no real need to rush directly home
I'll take the scenic route: I'll roam.

As always, my feet lead
Me to the trees, to the calm
Company of leaves where steady steps knead
Away anxiety, the solitude a balm.
I have not walked this path before
But I know this shrouded roof, this muddy floor,
And although each bush and branch to me is new
It's a familiar comfort, just a different view.

The wild woods end and greet
An ordered park, man's mark on display
As tended order: trees in lines, gravel 'neath feet,
A welcome seat, an open space for sport and play.
As a cathedral isle straight saplings stand;
Natures grace ordered by a caring hand,
If life is the work of a being outside of time
Church is not my place of worship, let this be mine.