Tracks
Snow has spread a canvas
over the forest floor,
and I see how alive
the woods are:
tracks tell the comings and goings
of furry and feathered things.
The foxes have walked on the ridge,
their trail straight with purpose –
unlike the squirrels’ Brownian motion.
The pheasants have printed arrows;
perhaps
I shall follow
their directions -
who knows to what treasure
they may lead?
December 26, 2017
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