Edge of the Creek

New light filters through the pines in thin, wandering bands,
While the creek below gathers darkness like a second skin.
Low whispers ride the breeze, carrying secrets lost to time,
Branches hush the leaves’ murmur of tales where darkness rises.

In the midst of it all here I stand.
Sun on my shoulders, shadow at my ankles,
Cool breath on my neck, heat rising at my shins—
A body divided between warmth and warning,
Between what glows above and what watches below.

I follow the trail as it teaches two lessons at once:
How beauty can shimmer, how danger awaits,
How a world can gleam even as it warns.

A spider’s web glints like a necklace strung between branches,
Each thread trembling with the weight of morning’s light—
Yet one careless step and it clings to my cheek,
Like a cold veil laid by something patient, unseen.

A cluster of berries gleams from a thicket,
Red as a heartbeat, bright as a beckoning flame;
Their shine is almost tender, almost sweet,
But poison lurks beneath their jeweled skin,
A lesson dressed in temptation.

Roots twist across the path like sleeping serpents,
Knotted, ancient, waiting for my wandering foot.
One misstep and the forest tilts—
Pine, sky, and shadow spinning as I fall
Toward the creek’s slow, lurking hunger.

Still, I walk the line between wonder and warning,
Light flickering on my face, darkness brushing my calves,
Where foreboding hums beneath the hush of leaves above
And something ancient stirs in the murk below—
The silent, patient promise of an alligator’s teeth waiting in the dark.