Wings
I don’t recall which birds Cora and I were.
Geese or Mallards or Rose-breasted Grosbeaks.
Possibly dragons.
But I do remember the freedom of running,
arms outstretched.
So I spread my wings again
And fly through the field,
Asha beside me.
Maybe she is flying too.
Pink joy of spring
I walk slowly along a section of the trail, looking for Fringed Polygala, small bright pink flowers crested with a white fringe.
“Are we too late?” I ask Asha. “Please tell me we haven’t missed them.”
Companions after a sleepless night
I considered leaving my anger at the edge of the woods,
but I wasn’t ready to put it down,
so it accompanied me on my walk,
rising
Yellow Blue-bead Lilies nod in the shade.
and falling,
rising
Chestnut-sided Warbler lifts his head and sings.
Gray Catbird’s phrases ramble.
and falling,
rising
Red Efts swagger among the leaves wet from last night’s rain.
and falling,
I leave the woods knowing my anger is rooted in love.
Wondering: One walk, one afternoon
A friend is coming to visit from the differently beautiful landscape where we met and conversed over cups of tea and knitting.
We are planning on an afternoon walk and an evening meal.
Do Asha and I walk with her along a dirt road where spring ephemerals bloom and a chorus of Spring Peepers sings? Or along a woodland path where we can admire plump Red Maple buds, then sit on a fallen Eastern White Pine and listen to Red-winged Blackbirds? Or a trail where we can kneel down and smell Trailing Arbutus, then walk alongside a brook, full and loud after last night’s rain?
How do I choose?
How do I condense miles of delights into one walk?
How do I convey years of paying attention in one afternoon?
A new-to-us trail
Asha and I meander up, down
and around,
under Eastern Hemlocks,
along a brook,
past yet another beaver pond,
across stone walls and streams,
over boulders,
among moss-covered stumps
and young hardwood trees.
Time fades.
I both do and don’t know where we are.
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