Looking at the pine forests of East Texas through the eyes of a poet who sees something greater than the vast forest around him.

Driving through East Texas-

green pines thrust upward

like columns in Cathedral

pointing to Someone greater.

Then yielding to greenish

golden meadowland where

black Angus cattle–like blobs

of ink–forage.

Further on, like phantoms

from heaven, persons

in bright orange clothing

snatch up debris along

the roadside. Some call them

“special needs” but really

they are angels cleansing

the grass and freeing up

the clover which bares

crimson heads for all to see.

These midwives of mother

nature sweep the Creator’s

Path.