“Nature setting whereby somebody sits on the edge of a high ledge and looks down to a fiels of ferns and lady slippers”

Above the rolling fern-spun floor, I sit,  
My boots nudging rough stone, knees hugged tight—  
The cliff’s lip, a narrow page for thoughts to flit  
On breezes born of shaded green and light.  
Below, the emerald sea—each frond uncurled  
In ancient script the woodland wind can read.  
Lady’s slippers blush, pale ghosts within this world,  
Whispering secrets only silence heeds.

My breath joins with the song of hidden thrush;  
A hawk wheels high, his shadow swift and small.  
Ledges cradle history in moss and hush,  
Time sifts through roots and slides along the wall.  
Here, above the shy parade of shade and bloom,  
I feel the vastness tuck me in its room.

Beneath, the ferns’ applause: a private cheer  
For quiet souls who pause to see, and hear.  
A jeweled slipper peeks from leafy dusk—  
Soft pink against the riot of the green—  
A secret kept by earth, and held in trust,  
For those with eyes to find the in-between.

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