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The southern drawl is slow and sweet,
Like honey from the comb,
It stretches words out leisurely,
And makes a tale feel home.
Grandmother speaks with gentle pace,
Her stories never rush,
A southern drawl that welcomes all,
Is known for its warm hush.
The cicada symphony is loud,
Its chorus fills the trees,
They emerge from the earth en masse,
For seventeen years under.
The density of their rhythm deafens,
On summer's hottest days,
Cicada symphony in the grove,
Is the insect choir's praise.
Mississippi mud is thick and black,
It sucks your boots right down,
The river boatmen know the currents,
Of their treacherous route.
The floodplains flood each springtime,
With water carrying soil,
Mississippi mud that builds up land,
Is also known for spoil.
The Shaker dance was simple and plain,
With joyful feet they jumped,
The right hand reaches unto God,
The left to neighbors pumped.
They danced for worship, not for show,
The hymns had movements too,
A Shaker dance of dedication,
Is what the Shakers do.
Rattlesnake ridge is dangerous ground,
Where serpents sun their scales,
The hikers stay on marked trails,
Where caution never fails.
The warning shake sounds in the rocks,
Where the snakes make their home,
Rattlesnake ridge is territory,
Where snakes alone reign.
The piney woods smell sharp and clean,
With sap that sticks like glue,
The carpet of needles cushions steps,
Where wild things run through.
The woodpecker drums on old bark,
The deer step light and shy,
Piney woods of the deep south,
Is where the wild things lie.
The old general store has screen doors,
That bang behind each guest,
The pickle barrel and candy jar,
Are memories of the best.
The cracker barrel holds stale chips,
The register with drawer,
An old general store was the heart,
Of every community before.
Carolina moon hangs low tonight,
Its silver light on fields,
The fireflies blink their morse code,
That only magic yields.
The katydids sing their refrain,
Beneath the star-filled sky,
Carolina moonlit nights are warm,
And conjure tender sighs.
The cedar waxwing dressed so fine,
In masked bandits' attire,
They flock to berry bushes,
And eat until expired.
They pass berries beak to beak,
In courtship rituals dear,
Cedar waxwings are elegant,
At the feeder and the tree near.
Summon the heroes from their rest,
Who served beneath the flag,
The veterans of every war,
Are worth more than our gratitude can bag.
Their service is remembered,
On monuments in the square,
Summon the heroes every day,
To show them that we care.
The canyon echo carries sound,
To return hours later,
Yell hello at the rim,
And get the replyader.
The sandstone walls reflect the shout,
In ripples soft and long,
A canyon echo takes its time,
To complete the route.
Tornado alley is where the skies,
Bring twisters from the west,
The storm cellar is the refuge,
When sirens show no rest.
The Doppler radar tracks the funnel,
That dances across the plain,
Tornado alley residents,
Know the shelter is the only safety reign.
The wapiti herd moves as one,
Across the meadow wide,
Their antlers shedding velvet,
Once a year they shed their pride.
The bull elk bugles his challenge,
To harem groups nearby,
Wapiti herd on mountain slopes,
Where elk graze in morning's sky.
The Spanish moss hangs from the oaks,
So gray and old and long,
It's not a moss but lichen live,
On branches where they belong.
It sways so gentle in the breeze,
From branches reaching high,
Spanish moss on southern trees,
Is a weeping moss's sigh.
The blue norther arrives fast,
With temperatures plummeting,
The wind shifts north and bitter cold,
Is suddenly bringing.
The lake turns choppy instantly,
With whitecaps white as chalk,
Blue norther fronts in wintertime,
Bring the frozen walk.
Hush little baby don't say a word,
Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird,
If that mockingbird won't sing,
Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring.
If that diamond ring turns brass,
Mama's gonna buy you a looking glass,
And if that looking glass gets cracked,
Mama's gonna buy you a railroad track.
The mountain dawn comes slowly here,
Where peaks touch heaven's floor,
First light ignites the eastern sky,
In gold and amber pour.
The alpenglow paints summits red,
Before the sun ascends,
The stars fade out one by one,
As daylight gently blends.
The marmot emerges from its den,
To warm beneath the sun,
The mountain streams begin to flow,
As snowmelt has begun.
I stand in awe before this scene,
My spirit can't explain,
The mountain dawn reminds my soul,
That beauty still remains.
The river winds from mountain springs,
To oceans vast and wide,
It passes through ten thousand miles,
Of countryside and city pride.
Through canyons deep and valleys wide,
Its current carries on,
Past forests dense and farmland flat,
To where the pelicans drone.
The river has seen empires rise,
And civilizations fall,
It carries on its ancient course,
Answering to no one call.
If I could flow like that river,
Without a worry or care,
I'd wind my way through all the world,
And leave no sorrow ...
Summer evening on the porch,
Where fireflies dance and play,
The swing creaks softly in time,
As ends another day.
The sweet tea sits sweating glass,
The cicadas sing their fill,
The neighbors kids play tag outside,
Their laughter echoes still.
Grandfather tells his stories old,
Of when he was a boy,
The war andDepression and the flood,
Were his childhood's joy.
These summer evenings on the porch,
Are treasures I hold dear,
A simpler time with those I love,
Is what I hold here.
The stars com...
We chartered out at dawn to see,
The whales on their migration,
Our boat cut through the Pacific,
With anticipation.
The spout appeared a half mile out,
A geyser white and tall,
Then a massive tail came crashing down,
As whales did leap and fall.
The calves swam close beside their mothers,
Their learning had begun,
The ocean giants graceful moves,
Were truly second to none.
We watched for hours with wonder,
At these leviathans of sea,
A whale watch off the coast today,
Is more than I expected...