No Frigid Days, Only Mild Days

I

Some forests never fear the fury of March bending a tree,

their Redwoods and Giant Sequoias provide good shelter

from winds and storms that occasionally begin at sea;

in this woodland the wood thrush and the blue warbler

have made their home and they're happy to see a wanderer.

When night descends all sounds are muffled by the loud cooing

of owls with fluorescent eyes that scare the black and grey crows;

they keep watch mistrusting the faint shadows similar to fog rising.

II

In the depths of the densest forest stands a gray limestone hut,

where the white-bearded keeper carries his Michigan axe to cut

wood for the evening fire to keep hungry bears and wolves away;

he searches for sweet Blueberries and Raspberries walking slowly,

he finds some ripe Papaws he'll roast with a tender, yellow Perch

he caught in a small pond by the shade of a reddish-brown Birch.

III

I met pale-faced Tom two summers ago, we bumped into each other

on a winding trail that led to an open meadow greener and wilder

than the ones turned arid from intense sunlight with a straight line;

he complained about his loneliness and the longing for sunshine.

IV

" Stop by anytime, I can share my adventures gladly, you can write them

as the hunting images take me back to the days when I steered the helm

of a ship with agile hands into turbulent oceans testing my inner strength;

I was called captain brave, not born in an age of such fragility and dearth."

VI

And Tom went on with his long and exciting narrative, I listened

with starry and avid eyes, somehow embodying his intrepid spirit,

" Look at your surroundings, Nature is so generous and teaches us grit;

I have survived in my wilderness, trusting instincts, not wanting to quit:

if we obey its laws, it won't turn against us and under these trees

that protect me as always, I expect no frigid days, only mild days".