God's Country

GOD’S COUNTRY

The cool breeze flows
Over the Wisconsin River.
Gently blowing through my hair.

Pine needles crunch noisily
Below my booted foot.

The trees drop their tired foliage,
To the ground to become,

A patchwork of colorful leaves, that
Lay as a quilt beneath me.

There is a crispness in the air,
As day slowly turns to night.

The only sounds,
Are of silence.
That echo off the lake,
On a whisper of the breeze.

God’s country