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)