A WALK IN THE WOODS
One foot
after
another. Leaf litter crushed
by my tread
whispers December.
Ice skins ponds
cautiously.
extending thin
fingers
of deceptive beckoning sheen.
The trail
like others turns
retrograde
as I haul myself
forward
future receding to
times
where striding was
standard
unworried by root
humps or
angles
of descent, when
we laughed
over summer corn,
chins dripping;
wreathed by smokes
of sizzling fish.
The colors of
August
are muted by aids
for walking
sudden
stumbles, inked
columns
of gain and
loss. Ahead
a slice of sky
opens.
I steady myself,
knock sedge
from my stick.
Trudge on
The Raven's Perch (Oct. 31, 2020)