Oh, the Ozarks!
The sun was setting,
Arriving just before dark.
Of places to be jetting,
Of places to leave its mark,
Your landscape is unforgetting.
Hardwood forests dot the range,
And twisting roads add scenic change.
A salmon sky paints a vignette,
highlighting your mountains’ sillouhette.
Night falls in all your cracks
As we reach our cabin in the woods.
Deer, raccoons’ and songbirds’ tracks
Lead the way as we unload our goods.
The moon seemed to move due to concept of parallax
From front door to balcony but was as it should,
Yielding its soft glow
Over fresh waters below.
We settled in our warm rustic abode,
Anticipating new adventures off the main road.
Oh, Ozarks, your morning can calm the unrest!
A cup of coffee and a drink of your sunshine
Was near more than we could ingest.
Trekking your woodlands near Price Mountain fault line,
Deciduous oaks boast new leaves like of a bird’s crest.
With helmet and harness, we soared through by zip line.
Fresh air ripping,
Our pace outstripping,
The graceful glide of a native red-tailed hawk,
Soaring above wild, purple mountain-four-o’clock.
Tucked away high in the mountains of the Ozarks,
Downtown in Eureka Springs,
Victorian-styled stores resemble shops of Denmark’s,
A charming mix of antique and contemporary things.
Cafes line winding mountain streets and city hall landmark.
A leisurely lunch and escape from apron strings.
Rugged rock walls of the patio spaces
At Local Flavor hint geological traces
Of calcite, quartz and olivine
Embedded deep in your forest of jade green.
Malachite, sandstone, shale and chert,
Your treasures are riches of geo collectors.
Oh Ozarks, what you hide beneath your skirt!
Mining for onyx, 1845, a prospector
Found the depths of your beauty beneath your dirt,
A hidden world of limestone, Earth’s splendid nectar.
Otherworldly and cosmic
A cavern symbolic
Of outer space, and the Milky Way
Where Angels and Buddhas are castaways.
Returning to sunlight, we journey our way back
To our cabin awaiting its company at night.
Winding interlacing roads and a railroad track,
The North Arkansas Railway in our rear sight.
Broken repetition of churches and bikers in black
Jamborees and hoe downs, rustic and rural light.
Hart’s Family Center we stop
At the local grocer’s shop.
Then to our home away from home
Nestled in your woodland dome.
Early morning rise, up with the carolina chickadee’s
Crisp whistling, “fee bee fee bay”
Afoot, we scrambled down to the fishing quay.
Eager to board our boat and get underway.
The sun began to rise upon beauty we didn’t foresee,
Gentle ripples mirrored reflections and new light of day.
Oh, on Beaver Lake! To wet a line,
A gainful pursuit, we caught our limit to brine.
A baited question: why choose this pastime?
Why, it isn’t the fish; it’s shared intimate time.
The sun goes down with the tufted titmouse.
Little grey bird with an echo in his voice,
Calling, “peter, peter, peter” ’round our log house.
The perfect setting for a red of our choice.
Cool breezes, hot bubbles, all senses rouse,
Night falls over our balcony. Minds rejoice.
Time is slipping, and soon we will go
Tomorrow we shall follow wherever the winds blow.
For now, goodnight, dear lake; goodnight to your loons.
Goodnight, majestic mountains; goodnight to the moon.