Trail
I
stepped off
The
road onto
A
trail into
Woods
of
Fresh
snow —
Not
too deep —
Followed
for
A
quarter mile,
Ducking
branches,
Watching
them
Persist
in a
Straight
line
Until
they went
One
way, and I
The
other — the
Small
hand prints
Of
raccoon
Hermit
I’m
the one who stacked
This
stove wood ten cords
Deep
under the roof of a
Broad
woodshed, and sawed
Old
pine boards across
To
make a dutch door for
Its
entry, and now I enjoy
How
daylight squints into this
Burrow
where round logs are
Pulled
down to split each day
If
you like you can find me
Talking
to myself busting apart
Ash
sticks with a favorite
Hatchet,
its head weight just
Right,
filling a kitchen basket —
Nothing
like a simple tool that works
And
when slipping the clear ribs
Of
a whole snakeskin out of
Soft
curled bark of yellow birch —
I
remember that tree cut down
Woods Work
At lunch break unwrap
And sit in place melted
Ice never tasted better
Snow falls in big flakes
Doesn’t amount to much
On hot chain saw engine
Back Track
Bobcat tracks in
Wet snow behind the
House this late March —
Came back two months later
With no warning
Both wings on
One of our ducks
Spread open floating
Along the pond edge
— a good time to see
Bright under feathers
Of blue & gray/green —
But the head ripped off
___________________
B O B A R N O L D
Once In Vermont
Gnomon
