Sunday, January 11, 2009
Mid-day, but barely bright.
The woods so cast in gloom,
several times I caught myself feeling we should hurry to beat sunset,
though its time still hours away.
In and out through dense stands of cedar,
this new trail so lovely, yet in this daylight, eerie--
dusted in the faintest light snow.
And, all along the water’s edge,
where slender, young sycamores stand,
feet reaching the water,
we followed it in silence,
seemingly alone in the woods on this cold wintry day.
As if stepping into the hush that falls like a curtain,
as the shadow of a hawk spreads out across the ground,
it seemed the skies were empty.
The woods and waters, too.
All we saw were their snowy footprints, left ahead of us on the trail.
Not a sound to betray their presence.
The woods knew the hunters were there.