brightly painted trees rustle
cool breezes blow
fall’s colors rain
around me
across the glen
bird calls’ echo
but oblivious
forest creatures ignore me
squirrels, cheeks stretched to popping,
scurry to bury
acorns for
winter’s coming blast
an amorous buck
spies a delightful doe
surveys the competition
contemplates momentary matrimony
I call to the Woodland Spirit
“hey Old Man, I’m home
all summer I’ve longed for this day
I missed you”
now aware of my voice
creatures fret
on guard, alert
ready to bolt
“remembering how we met
sustained me
comforted me
gave me hope we’d meet again”
“just thirteen I was
troubled
searching
nowhere to turn”
“parents didn’t
understand me
but then
neither did I”
“seeking a place of
solace
deep into the forest
I ventured”
“the flowing stream
I crossed
a steep bank
I climbed”
“on a fallen tree-trunk
I balanced
‘twas a good
forty paces long”
“dodging a nettle
I slithered among the fronds
settled on a
bed of mosses”
“that’s where I found you
inviting
understanding
loving me just as I am”
“‘twas a safe space
without a care
troubles left behind
my quiet place”
“nothing lasts forever
and I had to leave
but I’m home
for a little while”
“I’ve learned so many new things
since last we were together,
and I’m only eighteen:
cussing, drinking, smoking, and girls”
“I’ve so many
places to go
so many
things to do”
“sights to see that
I’ve never seen
sounds to hear that
I’ve never heard”
“I want what
life has for me
I want it all
I want it now”
“but I’ve stopped in for
a very short visit
I wanted to pop by, say hi, and ask
‘What’s been happening, Old Man?’”
“hey, why aren’t you speaking to me
you’ve always had something to say
some advice for me
some comforting words”
“I’ve longed for our little chats
but now you’re silent
you have no words for me
your lips remain shut”
“rats Old Man,
can’t you tell me why?
don’t leave me hanging
give me some tips”
then your silence is broken
as clear as if spoken
and your words are like
daggers stabbing my heart
what have you become?
you want your own way?
then, go, follow your lusts
I don’t know who you are
the ferns withered in winter’s icy grip
the mosses died in season’s cold
the stream’s thirsty bed is bone dry
thorns choked the nettles
my haven, the refuge of my dreams is no more
his back is turned with deaf ears and mute lips
forever I’ve changed, and I can’t reset the clock
we are estranged; still, life moves on
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