Between knolls and homesteads
now abandoned wound a road here, long ago.
No straight way.
Grew up to maple saplings, autumn olive
and multifloral rose. A footpath followed
the old road bed ‘til that too faded.
these days, but deer
tracks crossing. Small remnants, here
and there, of the old trail, almost invisible
(‘less you're mighty keen). Now
the body knows the way, the twists
and turns, the curve of hill and dip of swale,
the best morel and fiddlehead spots, the dens
where foxes lair and beaver lodge and the winter
yards of deer. Think my guiding's
wizardry? It’s naught but long memory, old age.
Mary Stebbins Taitt
050415-3V; 1C, 1st
note: I changed the Blog date so that the poem would follow the entry for 4-10-05