This is where I walk...

A poem

This is where I walk.

Home of deer.

Home of animals much smaller than I.

Centuries old pathways. Seeing footfalls both hesitant and determined. Seeing ours.

Seeing the changing of seasons. Green and blue and pink suddenly crisped to copper.

Open to the winter whips of cold and the blows of snow.

Trees taking their place in shortened time: no oaks here.

Once a lake sitting atop the Canadian Shield. Rocks beaten into particles. The undulating sand remains.

The same hot sand of summer is now covered in its winter cousin - stark white yet blue in the shadows.

I see undigested apples, scat of the copper eyed coyote. I know he watches us.

The sun sets and stillness falls.

The moon will keep watch on the night.

This is where I walk…