of early October,
a sharp wind shearing
pine, birch, oak
and poplar
of their leafy fur,
the damp earth
carpeted in oranges,
yellows and reds
crunching under boot.
The trail beneath is obscured,
but the view through
the surrounding forest
is clear as daylight.
Careful not to trip
on sleek roots,
slip on mossy stone,
we walk side by side
as we have for years,
your head is bowed,
my hand cups your elbow.
I am saying to you,
'if we had faith
this is how we would pray'.
And then sudden
as lightning flash,
movement up ahead - so fast,
at first I think of mountain bikers,
tearing through the trees
on two wheels,
fearless and wild
as a wolf pack,
then quickly doubt myself,
no, it can't be -
the impression fades
as if entirely imagined.
We walk on and we talk,
about our kids,
our parents, the future,
the past,
watch each step,
my doubts decomposing
amid the smell of rotting soil;
then unexpected
confirmation of a kind, three
in the distance, moving
but this time distinct.
Two adults and their offspring,
the upturned tail
of the smallest signalling
like a white flag.
We stop dead.
Try not to make a sound.
We want to freeze time,
take in this sublime
moment.
But it's useless,
we are heard
and they are gone
gone
into the remaining weeks
of hunting season.
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