Nancy: Coming down the lane toward home and it was all written out. A light snow on a solid crust. No tracking skills required.
tangle of roses, field
hollow, deer mouse
precise, with intent,
neatly drawn, red fox
snow firm enough to hold
the calligraphy of toes, nails,
pads, the fine line of a tail
drawn across the surface
each foot so carefully placed
across smooth white snow
fox, mouse, fox
we want our stories to end
but this one is still writing itself
down the slope
fox, fox, mouse
Alan: Sometimes a print of an old photo in a simple frame on a white wall speaks more compellingly than what’s beyond the window. This one has called to me more than once.
Over Wind Mountain
On a photograph by E.A. Curtis
What lies beyond the hill —
this mountain filling the frame
(other than boat and water and sky)?
Sky luminous: sun, it seems,
held in mountain’s sleighting hand;
water hardly rippled, a shining
here, there, polished dark between;
canoe high-prowed and angled
away, inviting — paddles ready —
any breeze might lift it, set it free.
No context, code or narrative
for what is off beyond, behind us
or even to the sides,
so we who look and trace some journey here
see only shadowed height;
the boat to reach it by;
distance we can measure;
distance immeasurable beyond it:
a slowly darkening sky.
“Tracking Fox” first appeared in Friends of Acadia Journal.