Thin Places

Together we parse the woodland trail
Past stands of ancient evergreens
Through patches of ice-melt mud,
Bearing right at the fork.
A quickened pace across the creek,
Then up the sandy rise
To Spring Pond.

A fallen pine rests on its side,
An empty cabin slumps.
Geese bleat over still water.

Blue blazed trees lead us to
An open yellow meadow,
The etched path arcs through
Last summer’s grassy remnants.

A sudden shrill drumming
Sounds in the forest.
Silence ensues;
We wait and listen.
Drumming cracks the air again,
Echoes through our amphitheater,
This hallowed forest glen.

Copyright 2012 © Brian T. Maurer

"Spring Pond" 2012 © Brian T. Maurer

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2 comments on “Thin Places

  1. --dave says:

    Evocative descriptions and a beautiful jewel of a pond. You capture well a sense of place and mood, even making a cemetery and funeral, a brooding snowstorm vigil, and walking the dog in the Dead of Winter somehow appealingly vivid.

    I checked our local Thin Place a few days ago, Wood Creek Pond, and the ice was melted everywhere but in the closest bay, so no kayaking quite yet and no eagles visible. The winter is getting wrung out of the air and ground there though.

    So, Spring! Has it been lurking about for months now? We are forewarned of allergies and insect problems intensified by the mild winter. I’ve needed antihistamines since January, and a dodgy mosquito has haunted the house all winter, like furtive Spring…

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