A Country Lane

I’d made up my mind to it, I’d stay in and read.
But a light shower, earlier, had imbued the woods with a peculiar sweetness that drifted in through the open window and tempted me out of doors.

And now, with the mountains reflecting that last, slanting light that dusts everything in gold—there was no help for it; I felt an enchantment that encouraged me to venture to deeper realms, deeper far, and more mysterious than my favourite armchair would have allowed.

I paused at an opening in the trees,
where a russet, needled path beckoned inward with an irresistible charm.

Under a canopy of branches,
a tiny bird flitted back and forth—as if to guide me on my way;
and, on either side, forget-me-nots nodded,
Sprinkled there, no doubt, from a truant elf’s watering can.

A curve ahead . . . and I took the strange fancy that at its end
I would find a thatched cottage
with a chubby “Hansel” peeking ‘round the corner.

Ah, such is the magical quality of a little lane winding its way through the woods.
 I will return often to wander here,
where dreams and reality merge and meet in the moment.