Heavy is the air
and the dew upon the mountain mint
and spider silk.
No breath of wind to
keep the fog at bay.
Quiet is the birdsong
and the thrumming insect chorus
and the green frogs.
Only the rooster
boldly greets the day.
Welcome are the bees
and their feeding on the fennel
and the phlox. Yet
their numbers falter
and slowly slip away.
Enshrouded is the path
and the road that runs before us.
Wearily we walk,
searching for the way
—
Ann Bodling’s poems reflect her close relationship with the natural world. She is a naturalist, gardener, wife, mother and grandmother. She has worked most of her adult life in gardens and on farms and lives on two acres in rural central-Pennsylvania with her husband, three goats and four hens.
