Where Is St. Francis?

The mist has lifted;
At last the drizzle has stopped.
Now I can go out.

As the light brightens
The sun hints at its presence
Just beyond the clouds.

 

From the wet dead leaves
Shiny green plants have sprung up--
Pre winter fake out.

 

 Rain drops on berries;
Chicken wanders in the woods;
Smoke drifts from chimney.

A whirling of birds--
Urgent cries and silhouettes--
The large hawk takes flight.

Where is St. Francis?
He used to preside over
This mound of dead grass.

This green wilderness;
Thick great marsh of growing plants,
Lies just off the road.

Look! Up in the woods:
Silhouette of a black bear?
(One can always hope.)