Shoreline

Red grasses shiver in the wind under a grey and lonely sky. The yellow reeds stand by the bay like arrows. Crows squat on a single bale of hay that lies, forgotten, in the field, left to decay. I see small creatures’ paw prints in the soggy clay that lines the shore. They skim the water’s edge. Who may have made these tracks? Where do they go? I cannot say - I hope to cozy burrows and not far astray. The wild geese honk their hoarse cries, and without delay they lift off, circle once; I watch them fly away and take my longing with them on their wings. I stay behind and walk the same old path as every day. January 11, 2017