Notes From The Woods

A spider lives in the hole in this tree. I didn’t see what kind, but I did see her web.

Coyote scat and a burnt umber mushroom.  Patches of sunlight as thick, but not as white, as autumn asters.

The constant chirp and chatter of busy chipmunks, the warning of a bluejay, and the distant hum of a tractor cutting hay.

A single red leaf hovers for a moment in front of my face, then sails back and forth and back and forth with a boat, like a crescent moon on its back, until it joins the others on the forest floor.

I peer into the hole in the pine tree and I want to go there.

Soft cave of rotting weathered wood.  A grotto, the rain doesn’t reach,  where I could sleep if I were a small mouse. I know there is another way out, a secret passage I can’t see.

I know I can go there and feel safe
when I wake up in the dark


Shadow of leaves on a Beech Tree. I see a skull.

4 thoughts on “Notes From The Woods

  1. Maria: I know it’s a pain to get ‘suggestions’ from readers, and yet…I see in my mind a book. A book of prose poems titled “Into the Orphaned Woods.” I couldn’t help but say so. Your musings on the woods are deeply poetic and layered. You are an excellent writer, stronger all the time. I’ll say no more, except thank you!

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