Long Key

'Time ago, those famous pink birds
must have been here, I suppose,
as I head south on Flamingo Road.

These days--- not a one;
but Common Moorhens,
dark, anointed with red

Still forage at pond shores,
amidst violet-blue spikes
of pickerelweed

White flowers of duck potato
and buttonbush blossoms;
a turtle swims slowly

Near the lily pad mosaic,
"lazin' on a Sunday afternoon";
as I walk over the small bridge

I see before me a vast maze
of massive old oak trees, branches
covered with resurrection fern strands

Mysterious ferns that dehyrate to brown,
then, with sufficient rain make
a great green rebound.

A hawk circles;
suspended high in the air,
giant spiders hang everywhere

In this arachnid metropolis,
this hauntingly beautiful forest;
when an orange butterfly crosses my path

I view it as a portent of good things;
and sure enough, as I follow the trails,
I come upon a Visitor Center

The building's veranda
refreshingly accommodating with
outdoor ceiling fans on this warm day.

I rest in a wooden rocker
gazing upon the sunlit pond;
would Monet have liked this scene?

I wonder; while yet digesting
that spinach and feta omelette I
ate for breakfast at the 84 Diner

Which isn't actually too far from this place
though 'civilization' seems worlds away.