The tales are there

alder rill
Killarney Lake Park, by Donna Rhynold

The tales are there
on heath and hill,
up granite stair,
down alder rill.
 
You won't find them
in a book,
but round a fire
in forest nook.
 
The paths converge
mother and child,
on grassy verge,
in meadow wild.
 
Come sit by my campfire,
rest your weary bones.
Tell us all a tale
in your dulcet tones.

Nanook of the Nashwaak
Reach out and touch a rock


Machias Lakes, Maine

If I could go with you


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