Field Notes: Fall 2022

A just-right angle

The soft September light says, “Look who’s over here.”
“Who?” I say and step off the trail.
Two small asters shine on a moss-covered rock.
“Oh, thank you, Sun, for calling out to me.”

Not so Common Milkweed

The crack reveals brown seeds
attached to silky parachutes
layered
unaccidentally.

I widen the opening
to the wind.

Which will take root and bloom?

Will they come true?

Across the bottom of the beaver-created pool, yellow leaves lie scattered, glistening like gold coins in a fountain.

I make three wishes as I drop a birch, maple and oak leaf into the slow-moving water.

En route to the forest floor

They
        twirl
twist
                    tumble
                                   sashay
             float
       drift.

It’s harder to catch a falling leaf than you might think.

I can’t just call them all brown

Dry, brown leaves cover the trail. I collect several and ponder the nuances of brown.

Oak and maple, more red. Beech and birch, more yellow.

I turn the leaves over and find more variations.

At home I arrange the leaves from dark to light and open the kitchen cabinets to look for words to help me describe the subtle differences – ground cloves, allspice, nutmeg, cinnamon and coriander; honey, molasses, maple syrup and cocoa.

Soon the counter is covered with flavors.

November feels warmer.

I wonder if their encounter was a poem

No words
No rhymes
But definitely tail-wagging rhythms,
Repeating stanzas of approach-retreat
As she circles the tree,
Curious,
Asking the fierce-looking possum,
“Do you want to play? Do I really even want to ask?”