Thursday, December 6, 2018

Mystical Ecology

The fog brewed
Densely overnight
Hindering my sight
Just beyond my face
While the coyotes
Are treading near
Calculating
The paw prints
To nip at my ankles


The big brown bat
Flies low, straight as an arrow
Cutting through the mist
Echolocation on high alert
His primal priorities configured
Sixty seconds ahead
Of my dirty windshield


Down the road
Not even a mile
An English manor sits
Nestled upon the edge
Of a redneck populace
Isolated and displaced
Upon a pompous pond
The dead crawl ever so slowly
Out of their murky graves
Remnants of a bygone era


Tis Georgia now
A fairytale’s dream
Even the mighty city
Takes heed
While the fairy doors
Mysteriously blossom forth
A golden miracle
Of glistening pixie dust
Strategically sprinkled
Throughout the metropolis
By curious fays disguised
In long woolen ebony capes ©

The Magical Caldera