BUMMER-FREE ZONE

When I was eleven I found a spring
In the woods below the house.
It was ringed all around by mossy boulders,
And shaded by a grove of pines.
If you looked down into its clear, cold water
You could see little pebbles eddy and swirl
As the water found egress from cracks underneath.
The grove of pines as well as a neighboring field
Must have been part of a farm at one time
For a number of deeply rutted paths had been worn
By cows into the ground under the trees.
It was just such a path which first led me to the spring.
I remember how the wind would pick up
And the pines would sway ominously,
Groaning and rattling in the whistling wind.
I imagined I could feel their roots straining
Against the ground beneath my shoes
As they swayed back and forth,
And if you looked down into the water,
As clear as air and cold as March,
The little pebbles swirled and danced.