More Photos



Shaggy head bleached golden-white
And clear skin browned by the glowing sun,
He spends his waking hours outside
Hunting, yet knowing naught of gun.
His playful muscles coil and hurl
A round rock lining at a tree,
But only if it's nondescript
And unfit for his stone treasury.
His impatient body presses down
Alongside a weary, panting dog,
To scout out quail and squirrel
From behind a fallen log.
His clear eyes widen to see deer
Pause and stare to see who hides.
Not knowing that a friend is near,
They race on with flowing stride.
Captivated by the streams and fields,
The whispered secrets of woods lore;
Of slender violet bouquets
Plucked from the forest floor.
His friends are these: the towering trees
With wide arms moving in the wind,
Softly crooning songs of love
For ears below which have not sinned.