Photo by eberhard grossgasteiger on


Woodsmoke from the neighbor’s chimney

prickles our noses.

The old apple tree is down,

split white on mud.

Here a scattering of gray fur,

the remnants of a fox’s meal.


Long meadow grasses beaten down

dampen our boots

on the slope to the river

brown and swirling.

See where the water rose highest,

rotting leaves strewn

across the overturned canoes.


Rock wall tumbled down,

hidden by wild rose and fescue

where the snakes winter.

Squish uphill to home,

past a branch erupting orange lichen.

A thick vine of wild grape

winds its sinuous way

into bare branches above.


Feel how the rough twist of vine

becomes our wrists.

The boundaries blur.

Part tree, part muscle and bone,

entangled in the wild,

we see only light.


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