Standing on an old wooden bridge,
I look upwards towards a hilly ridge,
Where trees of every shade of green,
Hug the sides of a deep ravine,
And gentle paths are found, between
Bushes and shrubs, where they convene,
And one can happily walk for miles,
Past so many wild creatures domiciles.
Whilst scanning the river bed below,
Watching a meandering, peaceful flow
Of water, trickling over the weir,
So sweet to drink and oh, so clear.
I study the minnow and stickleback,
Then realise I'm without my anorak,
For I perceive there's a chill in the air,
Of which I've suddenly become aware.
So with an audible sigh, I start to leave,
And my way homewards, I start to weave.
Then just for a moment, I stop and pause,
Marvelling once more at this great outdoors.
Ernestine Northover
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/this-great-outdoors/
