Afterwards,
I go
into the
woods--
the solitude
of hemlocks
canopying
a trail
up the hill--
over brooks,
rocks carpeted
with green moss,
and a stretch
of mud-soaked
rutted path,
to a small ridge
that circles
a clearing
where the
brush
changes--
briar,
pussy willow,
remnants
of goldenrod--
then the
pond opens
in a punch
bowl
among
the mountains--
different
birds three-note,
the wind
hums a
background,
clouds curtain up
to late blue
sky,
the water
goes placid,
and I see
an early tadpole
swim with
new
legs.

9 Mar 02


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