Contemplating Harriet's Winter Run
Rainbow leaves have begun
Their carpeting of the earth’s floor
Leaving weird-looking naked branches;
Their abandon nests no longer with tenants.
As their waters approach crystallization,
Pond populations are on the decline
And what use to be thick blinding forests
Now yield visibility to once hidden curiosities.
No longer are heard cheerful morning avian choirs
Nor the nightly symphonies of the frogs and crickets,
And the 24-hour cycle seems to pass by in strange stillness
As ground creatures appear to have quietly gone deeply under.
Forested does and bucks leisurely roam the roadside
To now feast on tasty salt-seasoned grass of the season;
Above in the chilled spaces of the quiet blue sky,
Drone soaring buzzards patiently awake the roadkill.
Wrapped in my sitting blanket, my feet in warm furry slippers,
I sit here with my eyes flooded with warm fireplace flames—
Trying to imagine how the Underground Railroad was able to
Crawl mountains, run through valleys, and wade winter rivers.
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