Proper Peeps

- jan-u-wine
No narrow trace of fragile-crafted shoe,
no sturdy imprint of naked leather'd toe
disturb the silverfine dust of this track.
And I look,
all the long way
below and beneath me...
all the long way
to a sea of trees sharply green,
shimmering in the day's heat.
And I climb further,
until it seems I might touch
the sky which takes my breath
with its blue,
or the clouds,
spilling like tangled runes
before a searching wind.
A lifetime away,
the Sea winks back at me,
almost as if She laughs
in the glad play of sparking Sun.
And something else there is, too,
at me
from the small safety of a leaf-curtained tree.
Cheeky eyes, black as beads,
but full of knowing,
full of.......
and a freeness born of flight,
stare into mine.
I can but laugh at the fine green-gold of his waist-coat,
and the impertinence of the red-burnished beak
that opens upon a cry like to a maid disturbed at her bath.
Well met, Master Aiwë,
you of the high clouds and the silver'd sun,
you of the impudent eye and the cheerily common cry.
Well met.